


songs about love

by nicole_writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Childhood Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Minor Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Minor Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Petra Macneary, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Minor Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Unrecognized Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes
Summary: “Yeah,” Ingrid agrees. “I’m glad he stayed in Fhirdiad. It would have been too weird if he had left as well.”Mercedes gives her a knowing smile and Ingrid frowns. “Weird, huh?” Mercedes prods gently.Ingrid’s brow creases. “What?”- OR: the slow road to discovering you're in love with your best friend.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Dorothea Arnault & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Claude von Riegan, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Mercedes von Martritz, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 118
Kudos: 98





	1. track 1: this is the golden age of something good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunnilee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnilee/gifts), [paperpenpal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/gifts).



> This is....the November Project. 
> 
> It is a love letter to all the stupid fluff tropes I love and a love letter to the stupid fluff that has been crafted by Mish and Sunni. To both of you, happy birthday loves, and I know Mish's birthday is tomorrow and it's not quite Sunni's birthday yet, but the, uh, number of chapters should give you an indication of why I'm gifting this to both of you. 
> 
> Thank you to Trixie who kept my secret for the last month or so even though I was itching to yell about it to the world. This project is going to be a (unfortunately) large undertaking, and I should be clear that it is currently low on my list of priorities. I'm focused on school and on my other long fic, Antumbra, but this will shift to the main slot once that fic gets finished up. And, no, if you're wondering, I do NOT plan on doing with this fic, the Red Fic, what I did for Folklore Fic where I wrote a chapter a day.
> 
> This is primarily a Sylvgrid fic! But there are background ships and past ships, but, unlike Folklore fic, I'm here to spread fluff, so almost all the past ships ended happily and everyone just deserves to be friends. And now, without further ado:
> 
> **Track 1: State of Grace**  
> 

_track 1: this is the golden age of something good_

* * *

Ingrid is sitting on the couch flipping through channels when the door to the apartment bangs open. She twists on the couch, looking over her shoulder and grins at Sylvain as he ducks into the apartment, dropping his bag at his feet. It makes an unfortunate splatting noise that makes her laugh and Sylvain frowns at her when he pushes his hair back out of his face. It sticks up making him look like a disgruntled, very wet porcupine. 

Ingrid throws her arm over the back of the couch and raises an eyebrow. “Did you forget it was going to rain?”

Sylvain sighs and starts stripping out of his very wet, very expensive jacket. “I didn’t forget. Someone stole my umbrella if you can believe it.”

Ingrid laughs at the absurdity of the statement. “Don’t you have your own office?”

Sylvain glares at her, folding his arms. “Don’t ask me how it happened, I just know that it happened.”

Ingrid presses her lips together and points to the hook by the door where her own coat is hanging and his umbrella dangles by its very worn strap. Sylvain blinks, a raindrop rolling down over the side of his face, as he stares at the umbrella in disbelief. 

“I did forget it,” he mutters. 

Ingrid laughs and leans back onto the couch, looking back at the TV. She still hasn’t found anything interesting to watch so she clicks it off. Sylvain huffs and stalks around the edge of the couch, flopping down and sprawling out so that he’s awkwardly leaning against Ingrid. His wet hair drips onto her shoulder and she shoves him off. Sylvain laughs and rolls, adjusting his position so that he’s lying down with his head in his lap. 

The water from his hair leaves little dark patches on her jeans and she pats his forehead condescendingly. “Ingrid, pity me,” he whines. 

She flicks his forehead for that and shoves him off, pushing off the couch and moving into the kitchen of their apartment. “You should get changed,” she suggests, moving to open the fridge. She pulls out a bag of carrots and pops one into her mouth. 

Sylvain sits up, leaning on the back of the couch as he looks at her. “But it’s still raining outside.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes at him. “It’s almost summer, Sylvain. If it’s raining now, it won’t be in about an hour when we have to go out for dinner.”

Sylvain huffs dramatically again, flopping his head against the couch. Ingrid throws a baby carrot at him. It thunks against his head and drops to the floor. Sylvain looks up at her sharply, staring, a betrayed look on his face. 

“Did you just throw a carrot at me?”

She sticks her tongue out. “I absolutely did throw a carrot at you.”

“Monster.”

“Waste of a carrot,” she counters. 

Sylvain laughs. “Alright, alright, I’ll go change.”

He hops up from the couch and heads off down the hall towards his bedroom and he starts stripping out of his work shirt before he even gets all the way into his room. Ingrid’s eyes trail after him on reflex and when he disappears and his door shuts, she tosses another carrot into her mouth. 

She’s hungry, but it’s probably bad form to eat a full meal before they go out to dinner with some old friends even if she knows she would eat another full meal at the restaurant since Dedue always picks the best restaurants. Ingrid leans against the counter, snacking on carrots and twisting the cuff of her sweater as she waits for Sylvain to re-emerge from his room with clean clothes. 

He pops out a minute later wearing jeans and a clean t-shirt, his hair still dripping wet. He ducks across the hall to their shared bathroom and comes out after a second, rubbing a towel through his hair. When he reaches the kitchen, his hair is wild and fluffy and sticking up every-which-way. 

Ingrid smothers a laugh as she steps closer to him, sticking her last carrot between her lips and reaching up to smooth out his hair as best she can. He chuckles, dodging back from her and she stumbles forward. He catches her by the hip but then releases her, reaching up to adjust his own hair. 

He frowns at the state he finds it in and quickly hurries back to the bathroom to fix it. Ingrid rolls her eyes and finishes the last of the carrots, tossing the bag into the trash. When Sylvain comes back this time his hair is tamed into something more respectable and he leans on the counter looking at her. 

“So, what’s the game plan for tonight?”

“Well we’re going for Happy Hour, so neither of us is driving. I have the directions from Mercedes about how to get to the restaurant, so we should be fine to take the subway there,” Ingrid explains. 

Sylvain nods and looks her up and down, taking in the loose, light sweater she’s wearing paired with her jeans. “Did you get off early today?”

Ingrid nods. “Started early and Leonie came in an hour early to relieve me, but I’m taking an hour off her shift on Thursday.”

Sylvain hums. “Sounds reasonable.”

“Very. Gave me some time to shower and to get rid of the bleach smell.”

Sylvain tilts his head. “Bleach? Did you have a messy day?”

Ingrid huffs. “Just a big dog with bowel issues.”

He grimaces. “Ew.”

“Yeah. Besides forgetting your umbrella, how was your day?”

Sylvain groans, rubbing at his face. “Relentless. We’re pushing for that merger next week and it’s seriously putting everyone in crunch mode. I’m not sure I’ve ever sent and received so many passive-aggressive emails in one day.”

She leans over and pats his shoulder. “At least I have the benefit of actually liking my coworkers.”

Sylvain shrugs. “I like my job for the most part. I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t.”

She shudders. “Marketing.”

He laughs. “Hey, at least I only had to do 6 years of school.”

Ingrid groans. “I’m still paying off bills from vet school, let’s not even go there. Your Masters is peanuts compared to that.”

“Exactly why I’ll be paying for dinner tonight,” he says casually. 

Ingrid crosses her arms. “You don’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You bought the toilet paper and soap refills when you went out last weekend.”

“That’s hardly equal to a dinner out,” she points out.

Sylvain slings an arm around her shoulder, pulling her along towards the front of their apartment, a wide, confident grin on his face. 

“Aw, come on, Ing, let me treat you!”

She rolls her eyes, but she does smile. Sylvain is pushy sometimes, but he has good intentions. “Fine, fine. You can get this one.”

Sylvain beams. “Excellent. Now grab your wallet because you’re going to need your ID since I think we’re both going to need a drink for this conversation.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “They’re already engaged, Sylvain. What other kinds of news are you expecting from them?”

He steps away from her to grab his shoes, pulling them on. She leans against the opposite wall and does the same, hopping as she laces up her trainers. She steps around him to grab her purse, slinging it over her shoulder and takes a last look towards the window on the far side of their apartment. It appears to have stopped raining, just like she had predicted it would. 

She nods to the apartment door as Sylvain straightens up, his shoes on. “Shall we go?”

Sylvain quickly digs his wallet and keys out of the bag he had dropped by the door earlier and then he winks and opens the door, waving a hand into the hallway. “After you.”

* * *

Mercedes and Dedue beat them to the restaurant and the hostess directs them to the patio for the reserved table. Ingrid leads the way, Sylvain following right behind her, as they head out to the front patio of the restaurant. It doesn’t take her long to spot their friends–Dedue’s height makes it an easy endeavour–and Ingrid waves to Mercedes. 

Mercedes stands up as they walk over to her and she immediately pulls Ingrid into a warm, welcoming hug. Ingrid laughs and hugs her friend back. She pulls back after a moment and Mercedes moves on to hug Sylvain. Ingrid leans over to hug Dedue. He pats her on the back awkwardly and then holds out his hand for Sylvain to shake. 

Ingrid shuffles into the booth across from Dedue and Mercedes and then Sylvain sits down next to her as they sit with their friends. 

“So!” Mercedes says brightly. “How are you both? It feels like it’s been so long!”

Ingrid exchanges a look with Sylvain. “We’re good?” she answers. “Honestly, not much has changed in our lives. You guys are the ones with exciting news.”

Ingrid swears that for a moment when she says that nothing has changed in their lives there is a flicker of disappointment in Mercedes’s eyes, but she covers it up with a wide smile as she holds out her left hand. Ingrid takes her hand and admires the simple diamond on her friend’s ring finger. It’s a beautiful, but simple ring: perfect for both Dedue and Mercedes. Ingrid smiles at the ring and then at Dedue. 

“It’s beautiful,” she compliments. 

“It really is,” Sylvain agrees. He drapes his arm along the back of the seat and grins at them. “What made you guys want to come back and get married in Fhirdiad?”

“My family still lives here,” Dedue answers. “It’s getting harder for them to travel, so we thought we’d try to be as central as possible.”

“Plus,” Mercedes continues, “we want to get married at that church on 14th. It’s right on the park where we went for our first date and I went to services there for years before we moved.”

Ingrid nods. She remembers when Mercedes and Dedue had first started dating, way back when she had been in her first year of her undergraduate degree. Sylvain had been in his third year then, and Mercedes had been in her second year of medical school. Ingrid had met Mercedes through Annette who had been her roommate in first year and they had quickly become quite close friends. Mercedes and Dedue are wonderfully good for each other and Ingrid couldn’t be happier for them to be getting married.

“So what’s the news tonight?” she asks, picking up the menu in front of her, skimming over the list of appetizers. 

Mercedes giggles. “Well, I’m sure you know that neither of us is much for pageantry with weddings so we’ve decided to keep it relatively small.”

Sylvain grins slyly. “Is this your way of announcing you’re going to have a shot-gun wedding?”

Dedue laughs. “Not exactly. We are going to get married in the second week of July though.”

Ingrid blinks. “That’s in eight weeks.”

Mercedes nods. “We’ve been together for long enough that we’re both sure about this and since we’re just having a small church wedding and a small reception afterwards, we’ve waited long enough. Since we’re getting married here, everyone will be coming back for the wedding! We’ve already talked to Annette and Felix and all the others and everyone has confirmed!”

“Wow,” Sylvain says. “Felix agreed that easily? I thought he was still avoiding the city?”

Dedue shrugs. “I think he needed to get out of Enbarr more than anything else.”

Ingrid nods slowly. “Right. He and Dorothea just broke up. I know that she’s already moved back here, but I didn’t realize he was going to come back too.”

Sylvain shrugs. “Their breakup was remarkably good for a Felix relationship. I’m sure he’s mostly just interested in getting out from his father’s watchful eye.”

Ingrid tilts her head, conceding the point. “That’s fair.”

“Anyways,” Mercedes continues, “I’ve already asked Annette to be my maid of honour and Dimitri will be Dedue’s Best Man, but we were both hoping that you two might be interested in joining the wedding party.”

Ingrid blinks. “Oh, wow, Mercedes, that’s not really where I expected this conversation to go.”

Mercedes laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous. You guys are some of our closest friends still. Just because you two stayed here, doesn’t mean that has changed.”

Sylvain chuckles. “Well, I would be honoured and even if Ingrid here says no, I’m sure that I can talk her into it eventually. I’m kind of hard for her to get rid of.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes, but she does smile. “Mercedes, I would be honoured to be a bridesmaid.”

Mercedes beams. “Oh, that’s so good to hear! I’ve asked Hilda to be my other one.”

Sylvain bursts out laughing. “Oh please tell me you’ve asked Felix to join the wedding party as well.”

Dedue’s lips curl into a smile. “I have decided to give Felix a respite. I’ve asked Ashe instead.”

Ingrid exhales in relief. “Oh thank the goddess. If you had asked Felix to walk down the aisle with Hilda, neither of them would make it all the way down.”

Mercedes laughs. “Yes, that was kind of what we had imagined.” Mercedes smiles brightly at them and picks up her own menu. “Now! We should order some food.”

“And drinks,” Sylvain chimes in. “We’re celebrating you guys, right?” He lifts a hand waving to a waiter. He winks at Mercedes. “I’ve got tonight’s bill.”

* * *

Partway through their main course, Mercedes stands to use the restroom and invites Ingrid to join her. Sylvain slides out of the booth, giving her an amused smile, but Ingrid just elbows him. Just because everyone knows that going to the bathroom with a girlfriend is an excuse to gossip, it doesn’t mean that she’s going to pass up the opportunity to catch up with Mercedes one-on-one. 

Mercedes links her arm through Ingrid’s and practically drags her along to the bathroom and Ingrid smiles to herself as they go. Once in the bathroom, Mercedes pulls out a pale pink tube of lipstick and touches up her makeup and then turns to face Ingrid. 

“So how have you really been?” she asks, her eyes glimmering playfully. “Now that there’s no roommate looking over your shoulder.”

Ingrid laughs. “I’ve been good, Mercedes. Work is good for me and Sylvain’s not too much of a shit back at the apartment. We have missed everyone though. It’s kind of strange to be the only ones who stayed after all this time.”

Mercedes nods. “I imagine. When Dimitri moved, we were all very surprised. He seemed like the person who would cling to his hometown until the day he died.”

Ingrid bites her lip. “Dimitri’s relationship with Fhirdiad is complicated,” she admits, “but I think the job at Garreg Mach was a good opportunity for him to step out from his father’s shadow. When we do get the chance to talk to him, he seems like he’s happy over there.”

Mercedes smiles. “Yes, Dedue has said the same things. But, Ingrid, I want to talk about you! Any exciting news to share? Boyfriends? Good dates?”

Ingrid blinks. “Um, no,” she admits. “I’ve been pretty career-driven since I graduated.” She considers her dating history. Besides a few short bar dates that haven’t led anywhere, she’s actually had a fairly blank slate since her last real relationship. 

Mercedes pats her arm. “That’s perfectly okay. Your career is certainly looking up and that’s okay. You’ve still got Sylvain in your corner no matter what too.”

Ingrid laughs as she lets her mind wander to her roommate. He’s been there for her since they were very little and she was toddling along after him and her older brothers and Glenn Fraldarius and he’s never treated her like she is anything less than his equal. 

“Yeah,” Ingrid agrees. “I’m glad he stayed in Fhirdiad. It would have been too weird if he had left as well.”

Mercedes gives her a knowing smile and Ingrid frowns. “Weird, huh?” Mercedes prods gently. 

Ingrid’s brow creases. “What?”

Mercedes shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it, Ingrid. I’m sure I’m just imagining things.”

Ingrid studies her friend for a moment, but Mercedes is frustratingly good at secrets when she wants to be and she seems determined for Ingrid not to figure out what she’s thinking about right now. Ingrid drops the subject, letting her eyes wander to Mercedes’s hand. 

“So why the rush wedding?”

Mercedes shrugs. “Dedue and I have been together for a long time. We’ve known we were going to get married almost right from when we started dating. Neither of us is big on spending money and hosting large parties, so we’re perfectly content with a small church wedding and a catered reception.”

Ingrid nods. It’s a slightly expanded answer to what she had gotten earlier, but most of the points stay the same. “Is there anything that Sylvain and I can do to help?”

Mercedes pulls a business card out of her purse and hands it to Ingrid. She takes it and studies it. It is for a dress shop with a time and date listed: a day in the second week of June. Ingrid smiles and looks back up at Mercedes. 

“Bridesmaid dresses?”

Mercedes nods. “I’ve already had my appointment to get my mother’s dress hemmed and I have a few ideas for bridesmaid dresses, but we need to actually get the details ironed out and get the dresses fitted after all.”

Ingrid slides the card into her purse. “I’ll be there,” she promises. 

“Great!” Mercedes says warmly. “I chose this week because I know most people are planning on coming back at the beginning of June.”

“Sylvain’s nothing if not persistent,” Ingrid agrees with a laugh. “Dimitri and Felix come back every year for his birthday and I’m glad everyone else is coming back this year too. Saves me from that pure, unstoppable ‘bro energy’ that gets exuded.”

Mercedes giggles. “Of course.” She pulls out her phone. “Well, we’ve probably left them alone for long enough, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ingrid links her arm back through Mercedes’s. “Let’s hope Dedue has talked Sylvain out of ordering the whole menu when we get back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and forth a bit on which album I should base this fic off of, but I went with Red because it's my favourite TS album in the end... (Speak Now and Lover were close contenders). 
> 
> Background Ships: (will be updated as more are revealed)  
> \- Mercedue
> 
> Past Ships: (will be updated as more are revealed)  
> \- Dorolix


	2. track 2: wishing you never found that love could be that strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid and Dorothea try (and fail) to bake. Sylvain helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy ACTUAL birthday mish!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> I'm running out my buffer for this fic but I don't care because it's your actual birthday and this chapter heavily features your wife. ;) And I promise that I'm not doing the daily post thing. There will be no update tomorrow, this was just necessary...
> 
> **Track 2: Red**   
> 

_track 2: wishing you never found that love could be that strong_

* * *

“I’ll see you tomorrow Marianne,” Ingrid says, waving as she makes her way out the front of the office. 

Marianne, one of the other clinic vets, waves as Ingrid ducks out the front door. Even though it’s past 6 in the evening now, there’s a warmth that lingers and it's still light out. Ingrid smiles to herself, it’s truly almost summer. She has a bunch of stuff to get prepared for the first week of June when Sylvain’s birthday is, but she has plans and she’ll have people to help her out. 

Ingrid digs into her purse to fish out her wallet and her train pass as she starts down the sidewalk and then she hears a familiar laugh. She stumbles in her stride, looking behind her to see a familiar person sitting on the bench outside her clinic. Ingrid stops digging for her wallet and just laughs disbelievingly. 

“Hi,” she says. She takes a few steps back towards the clinic. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Dorothea tosses her shiny, dark hair over one shoulder and grins. “Do you have dinner plans?”

Ingrid shakes her head. “I don’t technically, no, but I do smell like bleach and cleaning solution.” 

Dorothea shrugs. “You can shower at my place if you’d like. I’ve got to bake some cookies for a fundraising drive at the theatre tomorrow and I could use some company if you’re interested. I also have leftovers from that Leicester place on 18th.”

Ingrid is never one to pass up free food and she smiles wider, nodding. “That sounds amazing, Dorothea.”

“Great!” Dorothea says brightly, stepping forward and linking her arm with Ingrid’s. “I’m on 9th, so we can just walk from here.”

Ingrid lets Dorothea start pulling her down the street. “What are you doing here, Thea?”

Dorothea half-shrugs. “Didn’t want to be in Enbarr, didn’t want to be at Garreg Mach, figured I’d come back here.”

Ingrid hesitates, almost unsure if she should bring up her next point. Dorothea notes her pause and picks up on the awkwardness in the moment almost immediately. She laughs, squeezing her arm in Ingrid’s reassuringly. 

“Don’t worry about Felix, Ingrid. We parted as good friends. Honestly the last month or so of our relationship we were basically just friends who slept together for stress relief anyway.” 

Ingrid lets out a breath. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

Dorothea laughs again. “I’m a single girl in the biggest city in Faerghus. I think I’ll be fine, Ingrid, don’t worry. But, that’s enough about me,” Dorothea continues, “how have you been?”

Ingrid waves a hand behind her at the clinic. “It’s been pretty good! I’m in the clinic full-time now and I’m working up to the specialty in large animals like I was hoping. I still take other clients obviously, but I’ve gotten to make a few out of town trips to look at horses and stuff.”

“That’s exciting!” Dorothea encourages warmly. “And it’s everything you thought it would be when you were in undergrad?”

Ingrid laughs. “It’s different, but all three of the vets at our clinic are young. We graduated together and we opened the clinic because we knew we could. We’ve been making enough to pay the rent on the building and pay our staff and take home enough to survive on and pay the other bills.”

“Speaking of other bills,” Dorothea teases as they turn onto her street, “how is the apartment? You two are still living together, right?”

Ingrid shrugs. “I mean we’ve been living together for a long time, Dorothea. That’s nothing new.”

Dorothea sighs. “Oh come on, Ing. Throw me a bone here!”

Ingrid blinks. “What?”

Dorothea drops her arm and stops walking. She puts a hand on her hip. “You and Sylvain. There’s really nothing there?”

Ingrid’s mouth drops open. It’s far from the first time that someone had assumed she and Sylvain are together, but it’s strange to hear it phrased this way from someone who is a close friend to both her and Sylvain. All their close friends are well aware that Ingrid and Sylvain are roommates and that’s all they are. 

“Dorothea, we’re just friends,” Ingrid says firmly. “We’ve only ever been just friends.”

Dorothea scoffs. “Oh come on. You hated me when we first met because Sylvain and I were sleeping together.”

Ingrid shoves her friend’s arm. “Only because neither of you had any concept of personal space in a shared apartment. Plus, then you and Felix started dancing around each other and it just felt weird.”

Dorothea laughs. “You were jealous.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “I absolutely was not.”

Dorothea hums, the teasing disagreement clear in her body language, but she doesn’t push the subject as she waves to an apartment building on their right. “Well, this is me. Let’s head up.”

Ingrid follows Dorothea into her apartment building and to the elevator where they make their way up to the 11th floor. Ingrid studies her friend as the elevator rises. Dorothea seems relaxed and happy, much better than Ingrid had been expecting with how long she and Felix had kind of been together. 

“You look good, Dorothea,” Ingrid says as the doors ding open. 

Dorothea flashes her a brilliant smile and winks. “I know.”

Ingrid laughs and shakes her head as she follows Dorothea down the hall to her apartment. “That’s not what I meant.”

Dorothea giggles. “I know what you meant. And, Ingrid, I promise, I’m fine. Felix and I ended on great terms and we’re still friends. Besides, I kind of knew when getting into that relationship that it wasn’t going to be a forever thing.”

Ingrid tilts her head as Dorothea digs out her key, unlocking her apartment. “You did?”

Dorothea shrugs, opening the door and ushering Ingrid inside. “When Felix and I got together, neither of us was really looking for something serious. He was still pretty hung up on your redheaded friend and I just wasn’t interested in a serious partner at the time. We did pretty well for a few years all things considered, but we were on and off and we both knew that it wasn’t forever.”

Ingrid kicks off her shoes and drops her bag to the floor by Dorothea’s door. She considers her friend’s words. It makes sense, she supposes. Dorothea has always been more about casual dating and she and Felix had really been a more casual arrangement that they had labelled only because everyone else had expected them to do so. 

“There isn’t any bad blood?” Ingrid asks.

Dorothea shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “Like I said, Felix and I are surprisingly good. You don’t have to worry about us being weird at Sylvain’s birthday or anything. And, yes, I am expecting an invite to his birthday.”

Ingrid strides forward further into the apartment, taking it in. It isn’t as large as hers and Sylvain’s place, but theirs is a two-bedroom while Dorothea’s is a one-bedroom. It’s nice enough and mostly clean, especially for Dorothea’s standards, and Ingrid wanders further in as Dorothea makes her way into the kitchen, turning on the tap at the sink and washing her hands. 

“I’ll grab you some clean clothes if you want to shower,” Dorothea offers. 

Ingrid nods. “That would be great, thanks.” Ingrid walks towards Dorothea’s bedroom when she realizes something and stops, looking back at her friend who is standing in her kitchen, looking at something on her phone. “Dorothea,” Ingrid starts gently, “why are you baking?”

“For a fundraiser?”

Ingrid winces. “Dorothea, I love you, but historically you have been known as the last person we should be letting in the kitchen.”

Dorothea laughs. “Yes, when I’m cooking without a recipe, I will definitely give you that. But, I have Bernie’s recipe and everything is going to be fine, Ingrid. I promise.”

Ingrid sighs. Dorothea is stubborn, but she’s well aware that the moment she steps into the shower there is a chance her friend will burn the entire apartment down. “Alright. You have a change of clothes for me?”

Dorothea nods and brushes past her into her bedroom as she pulls out an old t-shirt and a pair of leggings. “These should fit!” 

Ingrid catches the clothes when they are tossed to her and Dorothea pushes her towards the attached bathroom. Dorothea disappears for a second and reappears holding a fluffy white towel which she also shoves into Ingrid’s arms before pushing her into the bathroom with a grin. 

Right before the door closes, Ingrid calls out, “Don’t start baking without me!”

Then she’s shut in the bathroom and she bites her lip and taps her foot on the floor before she pulls out her phone and opens a new text conversation. 

Annette Dominic  
  
You'll be here for Sylvain's birthday, right?  
  
oh course! what kind of question is that  
  
A valid one. Considering that Felix with ALSO be here for Sylvain's birthday.  
  
ingrid no  
  
Annette, he and Dorothea broke up.  
  
INGRID NO  
  
Annette, Dorothea says that he was still hung up on you.  
WE NEVER EVEN DATED  
but do you really think he might be interested????  
You'll never know unless you ask him.  
i hate it when you make sense  
I'll text you later, I'm just going to grab a shower.  
fine........i have words for you

Ingrid quickly skims the rest of her notifications. There’s a texted selfie from Sylvain but it’s not anything that requires a reply and she has a few work emails, but she reasons that she can manage those while whatever she and Dorothea are baking is in the oven. 

She strips out of her scrubs and hops into the shower, borrowing Dorothea’s lavender-scented shampoo and conditioner as she scrubs the cleaning supply smell from her skin, humming along to the first song that pops into her head. She has a quick shower–Dorothea’s water pressure isn’t quite as nice as hers and Sylvain’s is–and then quickly dresses in her borrowed shirt and leggings. 

Dorothea is a bit taller than her, so Ingrid winds the shirt into a knot in one corner to keep it from draping too much as she hangs up her towel and darts out of the bathroom. She’s immediately bombarded by the smell of something burning and she coughs, hurrying into the kitchen. 

She arrives just in time to see Dorothea drop a bowl of melted, half-burned butter into the sink with a shriek. Ingrid stares at her friend. 

“What did you do?”

“I was trying to melt the butter!” Dorothea replies frantically. 

Ingrid stares at her for a second before she bursts into laughter. “Did you just put it into the microwave on high?”

Dorothea shrugs, turning on her tap to run cold water over the dish. “Yes?”

Ingrid laughs again. “Does the recipe call for melted butter or softened butter?” She walks over, picking up the hand-written recipe from the counter. Just as she had suspected, it calls for softened butter. 

Dorothea blinks at her, curious. “There’s a difference?”

Ingrid presses her lips together to hold back another laugh at her friend’s expense. “Alright, do you have any more butter?”

Dorothea frowns. “No, I only bought the proportions I’d need.” She pauses, glancing at a mixing bowl on the counter. Ingrid raises an eyebrow and peeks into the bowl, seeing four cracked eggs littered with shattered shells. “I don’t have any more eggs either.”

Ingrid grabs the bowl and dumps it into the sink. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” she says, “we’re going to eat your leftovers while I call Sylvain and get him to bring the rest of the stuff that we need.”

Dorothea shrugs. “Works for me.”

Dorothea sets about preparing two plates of leftovers from the Leicester restaurant that makes the best Derdriu Pheasant outside of Derdriu while Ingrid pulls out her phone and dials Sylvain’s number. She wanders a few steps out of the kitchen, pressing the phone to her ear as she waits for her roommate to pick up. 

“ _Hey Ing_!” he greets when he answers on the fourth ring. “S _houldn’t you have been home by now_?” 

“I’m actually at Dorothea’s,” Ingrid replies. “I got ambushed on my way out of work and ended up over here.”

“ _Oh, okay. What’s with the call then_?” 

“Are you busy?”

“ _Too busy for you? Never. What is it_?” 

“We’re trying to do some baking for a fundraiser Dorothea a part of and we had,” she pauses, sending a small smile over her shoulder to Dorothea, “an accident.” Ingrid almost stumbles on the next phrase as Dorothea smirks at her, folding her arms. She shakes it off. “Any chance you can pick up some butter and eggs and come join us? Some extra supervision in the kitchen probably wouldn’t hurt either.”

“ _Done and done_ ,” Sylvain replies cheerfully. “ _Text me the address._ ” 

“Yeah, will do.”

“ _I_ _’ll be there as soon as I can_.” 

Ingrid hangs up the call and looks at Dorothea. “What’s your address so I can text Sylvain?”

Dorothea rattles it off, but the smirk on her face doesn’t disappear and Ingrid feels a bit defensive suddenly. Dorothea just keeps smirking at her and looking pointedly at her phone, even when the microwave beeps behind her, signifying that their leftovers are ready. 

“What?” Ingrid demands. 

“You two are _so married_ ,” Dorothea drawls. 

Ingrid stares at her. “What?” she repeats, almost dropping her phone. She steadies herself, finishing the text to Sylvain and sending it. 

He replies with a single heart emoji, but Ingrid just locks her phone and shoves it into her pocket.

“What do you mean, married?” 

Dorothea rolls her eyes and opens the microwave, pulling out the plates. “Never too busy for you,” she quotes. Ingrid blinks, not having realized that Dorothea had overheard Sylvain on the phone. 

“We’re friends.”

“Honey, you and I are friends. You and Sylvain are married.”

Ingrid frowns. “He’s my best friend and my roommate, Thea. We’ve known each other since we were–well, I was–in diapers.”

Dorothea hands her a plate and brushes past her, heading to the table. Over her shoulder, she calls back, “Yes and you’ve probably had a thing for him since you were like seven.”

Ingrid stares at Dorothea, feeling a bit indignant. “I have not! Sylvain and I are _friends_ and nothing more.” 

Dorothea sits down at the table and stares at her. “And that’s why your only serious boyfriend besides Fraldarius Senior was literally a Sylvain knock-off?”

Ingrid doesn’t really have a comeback for that. She and Claude had dated casually for a while, but Ingrid had always kind of known that it wouldn’t go anywhere with the two of them. He reminded her too much of Sylvain while also not being everything that her best friend was. It didn’t help that Sylvain _hated_ Claude for some reason. 

“I’m not dating Sylvain, Dorothea,” Ingrid settles on, sinking into the chair next to her friend. 

Dorothea points at her with a fork. “Maybe that’s your problem.”

“I don’t have a problem,” Ingrid says and immediately shoves a piece of steaming hot pheasant into her mouth and burns her tongue. 

Dorothea laughs at her. “Have you even been on a date since you and the Sylvain-copycat broke up?”

“I have,” Ingrid snaps, but she knows that none of them are the kind of date that Dorothea means. Dorothea is talking about a date with a person she actually could see herself dating, not just a random date with a guy because she could or because _Sylvain_ set her up with a friend of his. 

Dorothea hums disbelievingly and keeps eating. Ingrid frowns at her but tucks into her own food. It’s not as good on the second day, but it’s still absolutely delicious and probably better than whatever Ingrid would have made herself for dinner tonight. Plus, the aroma of the food drowns out the smell of burnt butter in the apartment. 

They get halfway through the meal before the buzzer for the apartment goes off and Dorothea buzzes Sylvain up to the apartment. Ingrid goes to open the door for him when Dorothea makes no move to and he grins widely at her as the door opens. He hugs her and Ingrid hugs him back before immediately relieving him of the grocery bags holding the supplies that they had requested he bring over. 

Sylvain’s expression twists into one of displeasure as he steps into the apartment. “Whoa! Something smells burnt!” 

Ingrid and Dorothea exchange a look and burst out laughing. Dorothea quickly jumps up and opens the window on the far side of her apartment, beginning to air out the place. Sylvain smiles at the two women as they move around him. Ingrid quickly replaces the eggs in the fridge but leaves the butter sitting out on the counter. 

“Any food left for me?” Sylvain asks, peering over at the dinner table.

Dorothea waves her hand towards the fridge. “You’re saving my ass, so help yourself.”

He beams. “Thanks, Thea!” 

He slides around Ingrid in the small kitchen, his hand landing on her waist and sliding across her back as he moves. His fingertips tingle where they brush against the bare skin of her back under the hem of Dorothea’s tied t-shirt and it takes all of Ingrid’s self-control not to jump away from him. 

When she looks back at Dorothea, her friend is smirking wickedly. “Help yourself to _whatever you want_ ,” she says and Ingrid glares at her. 

Dorothea winks and Ingrid immediately leaves the kitchen, returning to the table and aiming a kick at Dorothea’s shin. Dorothea flinches, but the smug smile on her face doesn’t drop an inch. Ingrid shoves another bite of food into her mouth and stubbornly tries to forget her friend’s sly comments. 

She’s not interested in Sylvain that way. He’s her best friend. Sure, he’s attractive, but many of Ingrid’s male friends are attractive. They’re roommates because they’ve known each other for so long and that’s why they know each other’s habits and are comfortable doing potentially weird things for each other. Their relationship is perfectly normal for two adult friends of opposite genders, no matter what Dorothea thinks. 

Sylvain’s hand trails across the back of her shoulder as he steps around her, sitting at the table with his own plate of food. Ingrid doesn’t think anything of the touch, but Dorothea watches it, smiling. Ingrid narrows her eyes at Dorothea who just tucks innocently back into her food like nothing had happened. 

“So who burnt the butter?” Sylvain asks. 

“Dorothea,” Ingrid replies. “I can’t believe you’d think I would do that!” She’s honestly a bit offended. 

Sylvain laughs and Ingrid catches herself staring at the crinkles at the edge of his eyes when he laughs and the glow of his cheeks under faint freckles when he grins at her. His honey-brown eyes are playful when he winks. “Of course, how dare we forget that Ingrid is a master in the kitchen who can do no wrong.”

Ingrid feels her own cheeks heat up at his teasing remark and she punches his shoulder lightly. Whatever. They’re just friends and nothing Dorothea says will change that.

* * *

Ingrid is so exhausted by the time that they get back to their own apartment after saving Dorothea’s second attempt at baking from her friend’s terrible kitchen skills that Sylvain offers to carry her up to the apartment. She doesn’t say no immediately, so he scoops her up piggy-back style. 

Ingrid rests her head on his shoulder as he carries her, almost dozing off, and between Sylvain’s warm hands and torso and his rhythmic breathing as he effortlessly carries her from the car to the elevator and then into the apartment, her heart stutters in her chest. He puts her down when they’re in the apartment and Ingrid hurries to her own room, almost slamming her door in his face once she blurts out a “good night!”. 

She pulls out her phone. 

Dorothea Arnault  
  
Dorothea, help me.  
  
I'm in love with Sylvain.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background Ships: (will be updated as more are revealed)  
> \- Mercedue  
> \- Felannie
> 
> Past Ships: (will be updated as more are revealed)  
> \- Dorolix  
> \- Dorovain FWB  
> \- Glenn/Ingrid  
> \- Claude/Ingrid


	3. track 3: and all we are is skin and bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late-night adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post again this week, but yesterday was incredibly stressful for many reasons, so have a little fluff as a reward. In addition, this song is the song that sold me on using this album for this fic. It just...has such big friends to lovers vibes and I adore it.
> 
> **Track 3: Treacherous**  
> 

_track 3: and all we are is skin and bone_

* * *

“Dimitri’s bringing a what?” Sylvain asks, leaning forward across the table towards her. 

Ingrid laughs into her own beer, taking another sip. “A girlfriend,” she repeats. “Come on, you knew he had one.”

Sylvain shrugs, grinning. “I dunno, I had kind of imagined that we’d all dreamt her up. Can you really see Dimitri in a stable relationship with anyone?”

Ingrid narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t be a dick, Sylvain. Some people would be surprised to see you ever hold a girl down for more than a few dates.”

Sylvain gasps, faking offended. “How dare you, Ingrid? I’ll have you know I wear my manwhore status like a badge of honour!”

Ingrid rolls her eyes and takes a long sip of her beer as something in her stomach stirs. Since the night with Dorothea, Ingrid has felt like she’s floundering. She’s in love with Sylvain. It’s a terrifying realization and she doesn’t know what to do about it so she’s just been acting like everything is completely normal. 

Dorothea has told her over a dozen times in six days to do a various assortment of activities that vary from kissing Sylvain to confessing her love to him to straight-up jumping him. Ingrid has done none of those things and just continued to act as if they are best friends because they still are. She’s absolutely terrified to say something wrong that might mean she loses Sylvain entirely. She doesn’t think she could stand that, so she sticks with best friends. 

She’s about to say something else to Sylvain when the bar door opens and she spots a familiar, tall, blond man enter, a woman at his side. Ingrid brightens, lifting a hand and waving to Dimitri. Dimitri breaks into a wide grin when he sees her and he bends down, saying something in the woman’s ear. She lifts her head, looking towards Ingrid and Sylvain, and waves. 

Sylvain spins in the booth when he sees Ingrid waving to someone and he flashes a wide, charming grin as Dimitri and the woman, who Ingrid presumes is his girlfriend, walk over to them. Sylvain and Ingrid both stand up when their friend reaches the table and Ingrid immediately pulls Dimitri into a hug. 

Dimitri chuckles and hugs her back. He pats her back and Ingrid leans back, smiling. “It’s great to see you, Dimitri.” Her eyes dart to the green-haired woman at his side. “You must be Byleth. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

Byleth smiles. “It’s nice to meet you both! Dimitri has told me so much about you.”

Sylvain and Dimitri share a short hug and then Ingrid slides back into her side of the booth, grabbing her beer and sliding down to make room for someone next to her. Dimitri sits across from her and Sylvain slides in next to her, draping his arm along the top of the booth as he makes himself comfortable. Ingrid sips her drink, hoping that the alcohol flush will hide the actual blush building in her cheeks at the couple-like position Sylvain has placed them in. 

“So, Sylvain,” Dimitri starts, “are you ready for your last year in your 20s?”

Sylvain groans. “Don’t remind me. I’m in denial. I think I’m just going to turn 29 every year from now on.”

Ingrid snorts into her drink and Byleth’s amused gaze drifts between her and Sylvain. 

“How long have you two been together?” Dimitri’s girlfriend asks innocently. 

Ingrid almost chokes on her next sip and just manages to set it down before she spills it all over herself. Her eyes widen and she turns towards Sylvain, words failing her, as she flounders with Byleth’s question. Sylvain doesn’t struggle nearly as much, giving Byleth one of his trademark grins. 

“Ingrid and I have been friends pretty much since she was born. I’m the old man here, but our parents were friends so we kind of got stuck together. Same with Dimitri and Felix and Felix’s brother, Glenn. Dimitri’s the oldest of the three little ones, but we’ve all been friends our whole lives.”

Ingrid blinks as she processes his words. He apparently had chosen to take the question in a platonic manner, for which Ingrid is very grateful. Dimitri smiles hesitantly, turning towards Byleth as if to say something to her, but she shakes her head, leaning forward. 

“Not friends. I know that story. You two,” Byleth presses, waving a hand between Ingrid and Sylvain. “Dimitri never mentioned that you were dating.”

Ingrid sees the moment that it registers on Sylvain’s face. His lips part and his eyes widen a bit. He looks at Ingrid and at his own arm which is almost draped over her shoulders. Ingrid turns away from him, taking another sip of her beer to hide her face from him. 

“We’re not,” Sylvain corrects quickly. “We’re friends and roommates.”

Ingrid nods hurriedly, some of her scattered confidence returning to her. “Yeah. Sylvain and I are just the leftovers that got stuck in Fhirdiad while it seems like everyone else moved away,” she jokes. 

Sylvain chuckles. “Oh come on, Ing, you know the truth. Everyone else abandoned us!” 

Dimitri laughs at that. “You chose to stay, the rest of us chose to leave,” he counters. 

Byleth laughs. “Sorry about the mix-up. You two are just close, that’s all,” she apologizes. 

Sylvain shrugs. “Being friends for more than twenty years can do that to people.”

Ingrid scoffs. “You’d be dead in a ditch by now if it wasn’t for me.”

“And you never would have learned how to have fun,” Sylvain pokes back. 

She smiles and drains the last bit of her beer. “Yeah, yeah,” she dismisses. “Who needs a drink?”

* * *

“Ingrid,” Dimitri says, stepping up next to her. They’re waiting just outside the bar at a little past midnight for Sylvain and Byleth who are finishing paying the last tabs. 

Ingrid snaps her head up, smiling blindly at Dimitri. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry if Byleth embarrassed either of you back there. I did tell her that you two are just friends, but I think sometimes she says things like this just to observe people’s reactions,” Dimitri explains. 

Ingrid blinks. “Embarrassed?” She shakes her head. “No, no, it’s fine.” The bar door opens and Sylvain and Byleth appear, both smiling broadly. Her heart flips in her chest. “Sylvain and I are friends.”

Dimitri looks between her and their approaching friends. He looks like he doesn’t believe her in the slightest. Ingrid knows that if she could see herself, she wouldn’t believe it either, but she has to hope that it’s enough to convince Sylvain.

Sylvain seems, thankfully, distracted enough by Byleth not to notice the weirdness between Ingrid and Dimitri as he just grins at her when he stops in front of her. “Well,” he says to Byleth and Dimitri, “I guess this is where we part ways, right?”

Dimitri nods. “Yes. I’ve called a ride for us back to the apartment.” He hesitates, looking between them. “Do you need a ride back to your apartment?”

Ingrid shakes her head. “We only live a few blocks from here. We picked this bar on purpose,” she reminds. “Besides, it’s the end of spring and basically summer.” She holds her arms out, waving to the clear, obviously not cold air. 

Sylvain throws an arm around her shoulder casually. “Three blocks east and two south. We’ll be fine.”  
A car rolls up at the edge of the curve before Dimitri can argue and Ingrid forces herself not to awkwardly shy out of Sylvain’s touch as Dimitri and Byleth wave farewell, getting into their Pegasi. She and Sylvain stand there on the sidewalk for a moment, waiting, and Ingrid wonders if they’re going to do anything when Sylvain’s arm drops off her shoulder and he steps in front of her. 

She’s immediately suspicious of the way that his smile splits into a playful smirk. “What is it?” she asks. 

“Just wanted to ask if you wanted to take the long way home,” he answers. “We can gossip about Byleth and all the horrible things we picked up on tonight.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Sylvain, Byleth seems lovely. Dimitri really likes her and she seems very nice.”

He laughs. “Nah, Byleth is great. I’m happy for Dimitri. Almost wish I had met her first myself,” he teases. 

Ingrid bites the inside of her cheek at that comment and tries really hard not to immediately start comparing herself to Dimitri’s girlfriend. It doesn’t matter how different she and Byleth are because Byleth is dating Dimitri, not Sylvain and Ingrid isn’t even dating Sylvain so it _really shouldn’t matter_. 

Sylvain blinks at her. “Ingrid? I didn’t know my suggestion to walk the long way was really that bad.”

She shakes her head, snapping herself out of it. “No, it’s not, don’t worry.” She fidgets with the sleeve on her shirt and then adjusts her purse on her shoulder. “I’d actually love to take the long way. We can head through the park.”

Sylvain beams. “That’s what I was thinking! We haven’t walked this way in ages.” He links their arms together and starts dragging her towards the crosswalk on the corner where they can cross the street, walking in the opposite direction from their apartment. 

Ingrid stumbles at the sudden motion, but she laughs, going along with Sylvain’s antics. “Alright, alright! Just don’t yank me off my feet!”

Sylvain laughs at her, leading the way across the street into the busiest park in Fhirdiad. During the daytime, the park is crowded with families, couples, vendors, and people out exercising or walking pets, but at this time of night, it’s almost completely abandoned. There are a few people wandering about, but as she and Sylvain walk through the park, they don’t cross paths with anyone else. 

A few of the streetlights on the path flicker unreliably and Ingrid looks up at them almost instinctively. Sylvain pauses in his step, stopping next to her under the light of one particularly stubborn light that flickers every couple of seconds. 

“You would think that the city would be more interested in replacing these,” Sylvain says thoughtfully. “It’s almost into the swing of summer and there are only going to be more people out and around at night.”

Ingrid shrugs. “I guess they’re more worried about the state of the streets with all the construction they’ve been doing.”

She turns her head back to Sylvain and her breath catches. The artificial yellow of the light above them turns Sylvain’s hair a more orangey-red than its usual bright tone, but it also makes his eyes glow gold. As embarrassing as it is, she finds herself unable to look away from him. When he turns back to her, she manages to sharply snap her gaze away to stare at the pond nearby so that he doesn’t catch her staring. 

Sylvain is pretty. Everyone knows this. Ingrid has known this for a long time. He has had more than his share of one-night stands and short relationships and he is famous for attracting attention wherever they go. He’s athletic and his smile is charming and the little dimple in his cheek has made more than a few people swoon. 

Ingrid stares out at the pond so that she doesn’t have to look at Sylvain and be forced to deal with all the fluttery feelings in her stomach. 

“It’s kind of weird to have everyone coming back this year,” Sylvain says when he notices Ingrid’s attention has drifted. 

He wanders over towards the edge of the pond and Ingrid trails after him. Sylvain brushes out an area of grass at the edge and sits down, patting the grass next to him. Ingrid hesitates, wondering if it's wet, but Sylvain just tugs on her calf until she trips, landing half on top of him and almost rolling into the pond. 

He tightens his arms around her, saving her from an untimely plunge and they both burst out laughing as Sylvain lays back flat on the ground, his arms still wrapped around Ingrid. She wriggles in his grip until he lets go and she rolls off him. She flops on the grass next to him, letting the last few giggles drift into the night air. 

They probably look ridiculous, sprawling on the grass in a public park next to a duck pond, but Ingrid doesn’t care. This is actually relatively normal for her and Sylvain. 

“It is weird,” she agrees after a moment, bringing back up his comment from before they had gone tumbling to the ground. “I’m happy it’s happening though.”

“Oh definitely,” Sylvain agrees. “Mercedes and Dedue are really bringing us all back together.”

“Can you believe you’re almost 30?” she teases, elbowing him. 

Sylvain gasps. “Ingrid, how dare you point out our two-year age gap. I am a respectable 28 years old.”

She scoffs. “Not for long.”

He laughs and she sees him rub at his face out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah, yeah, I know I’m getting old.”

She props herself up on an elbow and leans towards him. “You’re not old, Sylvain,” she assures.

He shrugs. “I dunno, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that fact. I have a great job with the potential for growth there, I live in a pretty nice part of town, and I live with my best friend.” He grins at her. “Yeah, I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

Ingrid's stomach flips again and she smiles at him. “When you put it that way, you sound like you’ve got it together.”

“Mostly thanks to my roommate,” he says seriously. A smile pulls at the corner of his lips, betraying him, but Ingrid ignores it, playing along. “She’s super successful as a veterinarian already and she’s only a few years out of school. She just started her own practice with a few classmates from her grad class and I think they’re going to do really well.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes at his flattery, shoving his shoulder and dropping back down to lie on the grass. “Your roommate sounds like a workaholic.”

“Maybe, but I like to think that makes her pretty cool in my books. We sorted out her panic-overwork stuff back when she was freaking out in her undergrad.”

Ingrid does laugh at that, remembering many panicked study sessions and Sylvain, in the last year of his business degree, assuring her that everything would be fine. Her other friends had definitely helped with her work-hard-no-play strategy in school, but Sylvain had consistently been the one to help her maintain a work-life balance. 

They lie there on the grass for a few more minutes, just breathing and appreciating the stillness between them. It’s nice to be able to appreciate the outdoors in Faerghus without feeling like they’re going to freeze. Sylvain has always been worse at dealing with summer weather than Ingrid, but she’s happy that it’s almost here, especially because it seems like the summer that is ahead of them will actually spell something different. 

“I texted Annette the other day,” Ingrid says, filling the silence. 

Sylvain laughs. “Did she flip out on you?”

“A bit.” She pulls out her phone and hands it to Sylvain, letting him skim the conversation with Annette. She is well used to Sylvain reading her texts so she has been sure to delete any incriminating messages with Dorothea that she doesn’t want him to see. 

Sylvain chuckles as he skims hers and Annette’s conversation. “She really does still have a thing for him, doesn’t she?”

“They stayed friends,” Ingrid points out. “Annette’s stubborn like that. Even if nothing ever happened between them, she wasn’t going to just let him disappear from her life.”

“Wonder what Felix would say to that,” Sylvain ponders. “He was uselessly into her before his whole thing with Dorothea got shockingly serious.”

“I think, from what Thea has said,” Ingrid explains, “that he might still be uselessly into her.”

Sylvain snorts. “Well Felix is useless with all things feelings, that’s well established. It’s kind of the Fraldarius way.”

Ingrid bites her lip at that as she thinks about her own experience with emotionally stunted Fraldarius men. It’s not something she particularly looks back on with fondness, but it’s not like she can say Glenn had been the only one at fault. When she looks at Sylvain now, his eyes glimmering with mirth and his lips twisted into a handsome playful smile that makes her heart do _things_ in her chest, she knows she _definitely_ can’t blame Glenn for everything. 

Sylvain takes her silence the wrong way and winces. “Sorry.” He rolls towards her so that they’re basically face-to-face and Ingrid blinks at him. “Didn’t mean to poke at old wounds,” he apologizes. 

She shrugs. “You’re fine,” she assures. “I was thinking of something else.” She leans away from Sylvain, sitting up on the grass. 

The light above them is still flickering and Ingrid stretches out her shoulders. She checks her phone. They’ve been here way longer than they had intended. With how late it is, and the fact that she does have to work tomorrow, she knows that they should get going. 

She nudges Sylvain’s leg with her foot. “Come on, lazypants,” she says. “We should actually go home.”

Sylvain groans. “What if I was comfortable here?”

“Then I’ll just leave you here.” She stands up, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow. “I have work tomorrow. Your anguish is nothing to me.”

“You wouldn’t leave me here,” he says. 

She crosses her arms, smirking. “Are you going to test me?”

Sylvain apparently doesn’t feel like testing her as he sits up and holds out a hand. She takes it and pulls him to his feet. The sudden weight change almost sends her tumbling backward into the pond and it’s Sylvain’s reflexes that save her, for the second time, from taking an unfortunate dip in the public pond. 

“Saved your life,” he teases in the same way he had used to when they were kids. 

Ingrid smothers a fond smile and shoves his shoulder. “Careful, or I might doom yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background Ships: (will be updated as more are revealed)  
> \- Mercedue  
> \- Felannie  
> \- Dimileth
> 
> Past Ships: (will be updated as more are revealed)  
> \- Dorolix  
> \- Dorovain FWB  
> \- Glenn/Ingrid  
> \- Claude/Ingrid


	4. track 4: pretend he doesn't know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's date night at the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello this is a panic update because I'm drowning in school work and needed something to make my crazy day a bit better. no updates for a while after this probably, but that's alright. I just needed a little soft in my life today.
> 
> **Track 4: I Knew You Were Trouble**   
> 

_track 4: pretend he doesn’t know_

* * *

“Hey, Ingrid, have you seen my watch?” Sylvain asks, striding out of his bedroom. 

Ingrid blinks and looks up from her phone on the couch. Sylvain is wearing a button-up shirt with the top button popped and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows paired with dark jeans. It’s a typical first-date outfit for him and it’s annoyingly attractive. It takes her a second to remember that he had asked her a question and she turns, scanning the living room for his watch. 

She spots it easily enough, sitting on the coffee table, and she grabs it. Ingrid twists, raising it up to him. Sylvain beams and jogs over to her, taking it, and standing just behind the couch as he fastens it to his wrist. Ingrid tries and fails not to stare at the well-muscled forearms of her friend. Thankfully, she manages to look away before he notices that she is staring at him. 

“Are you going out?” she asks, not looking at him. 

“Yeah,” Sylvain agrees. “Got a date.”

She pushes down the twist of jealousy in her stomach and thumbs her phone contemplatively. “Right,” she replies. “Are you coming back tonight?”

Sylvain scratches the back of his head. “Uh, no, probably not.”

Ingrid nods. “Okay. I won’t wait up.”

She looks up with him and notices that for once he seems a little hesitant about going out and leaving her behind. Ingrid quickly looks away. She doesn’t need to read into her roommate’s expressions too much, especially when he’s actively going out on a date with someone else. 

“Right,” Sylvain says after an awkward moment. He steps back from the couch and walks towards the door, pausing to pull his shoes on. 

Ingrid sinks into the couch, wishing that she isn’t as awkward as she knows that she is. She pulls up her phone again and realizes that she has accidentally opened a new message and typed in the letter ‘C’. Her phone’s immediate recommendation makes her pause and she worries her lip between her teeth. 

Against her better judgement, she fills out the rest of his name and starts writing a text before Sylvain is even out the door. 

Claude von Riegan  
  
Hey.  
  


She drops her phone to her stomach and covers her face, immediately regretting the action, but having no way to take it back. To her surprise, it’s only a moment before it buzzes on her stomach and Ingrid tenses, staring at the facedown phone. She slowly picks it up and sees that he has indeed replied. 

Claude von Riegan  
  
Hi Ingrid.  
  
What's the occasion? Did I miss the text-your-ex-day memo?  
  
You're ridiculous  
  
You texted me  
  
You're in Fhridiad, right?  
  
Of course  
  
Are you busy tonight?  
  
Depends  
  
Do you want to get a drink?  
  
Is this as friends or as a date?  
  
...Both?  
  
I like it.  
  
There's a bar on Forester. that has a good FPA  
  
Text me the address and I'll meet you there  
  
Will do. 9?  
  
9 is good.  
  


Ingrid locks her phone and looks over towards the door. Sylvain is just finishing making some last adjustments to his hair in the mirror by the door and he turns his head, catching her eye before she can look away. He smiles at her. 

“All good?” he asks. 

She nods reflexively and then realizes that she’s wearing sweats and an old t-shirt of Sylvain’s: definitely not date appropriate clothing and she stands up, sliding her phone into the pocket of the sweats. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Have fun on your date.”

Sylvain winks at her and salutes her, reaching for the doorknob to the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ingrid stares at the door until it swings fully closed and then she glances at the clock. It’s 8:30 now and since she still has to change and make herself presentable, she’s probably going to be late. She knows he won’t mind because he never did when they were actually dating, but the idea still bothers her so she hurries down the hall to her bedroom. 

She opens her closet and stares at her clothes, frowning. It’s the last week of May and she knows it isn’t particularly cold outside, so she grabs one of the dresses that is pushed more to the back of her closet. She changes quickly, pulling on the green dress. She situates the tie at the front nicely beneath the v-neck and straightens the long, flowing sleeves. 

Ingrid smooths out the dotted fabric and scrutinizes her appearance in the mirror. Her hair is shorter now than it was when she had bought the dress, but she still likes it. The ruffled layers of the skirt are cute and give the dress a bit of a girly touch that is often lacking in her wardrobe. 

She then sets about doing her make-up, going for a light, casual look as she brushes on a light gold eyeshadow and a few coats of mascara. She opts for a faint rub of lip gloss instead of a full coat, remembering Dorothea’s advice for dates at bars: a full coat never lasts past the first beer anyways. 

She drags a brush through her hair quickly and pins back two of the pieces at the front. Satisfied with her quick makeover, she grabs her phone and checks the time. It’s almost 8:50 and Claude has sent her the address. It’s not really within walking distance, so she quickly orders a Pegasi. Her estimated time of arrival is a few minutes after nine, but it's nothing worth texting Claude about so she just grabs her purse, dropping her phone, wallet, and keys inside. She heads to the front of the apartment and pulls on her brown oxfords.

* * *

The bar Claude picked is bustling but not deafeningly loud like some of the places she has been. Ingrid walks inside and spots him almost as soon as she crosses the threshold. There are two pints on the table he has chosen and Ingrid is a bit flattered by the fact that he had apparently ordered her a drink as well. 

She picks her way across the room to him and slips into the booth across from him. Claude gives her a familiar, lopsided grin and Ingrid can’t help but compare it to Sylvain’s smile. Claude is wearing a yellow t-shirt with a denim jacket over it and it really makes his green eyes pop. For all the comparisons that she can make between Claude and Sylvain, they are both incredibly sharp dressers. 

“Hi,” she greets, smoothing out her dress. 

Claude pushes one of the beers towards her. “FPA,” he explains. “Hopefully your drink of choice hasn’t changed that much.”

Ingrid shakes her head. “No, this is great, thanks.” She takes a sip from it and Claude leans back, relaxing a bit. 

“Not that it isn’t good to see you, Ingrid, but isn’t this all a bit sudden?”

She puts her drink down, spinning it slowly on the coaster as she smiles at him. “Am I not allowed to pursue old sparks?”

Claude chuckles, leaning an elbow on the table as he leans towards her. “Right,” he drawls teasingly. “Because this is definitely something we’ve done since we’ve broken up.”

He’s only mostly kidding there because they have, in fact, gone for drinks a few times since their break-up. They had broken up because neither of them had been super serious about the relationship when they had been in it, but they’ve stayed fairly close friends. Still, he’s right in the sense that most of the time when they hang out, they are around other people and they definitely don’t call it a date. 

“How are you, Claude?” Ingrid asks, redirecting the conversation. 

He shrugs. “Been better, been worse. It’s a hell of a time to be in Fhirdiad though, isn’t it? It’s like the whole gang is coming back.”

Ingrid laughs a bit. “Well, Sylvain’s birthday is next week and then, as I’m sure you’ve heard, Mercedes and Dedue are getting married in July.” 

Claude nods, drinking from his own glass. “Yeah, I am aware. Hilda’s been dragging me around shopping while she looks for gifts for them.” His grin turns a bit smug. “Even though the best gift is still whatever kitchen thing they put on their registry.”

Ingrid smiles. “You’re not wrong. If you put Dedue in the kitchen, it’s bound to be great. Mercedes is a great baker, but don’t let her do most of the cooking without supervision.”

Claude laughs. “Sounds about right.” He tilts his head and his green eyes catch the light, sparkling with mischievous intent. “How’s roommate life?”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “We’re fine. The same as always. Except for the fact that we’re getting ready to have a lot of people in and out visiting over the next month and a bit.”

“Not what I meant,” he says. “How’s Sylvain?” he asks instead. 

Ingrid raises an eyebrow. “Wow, so you’re going to ask about my roommate before you ask about me?”

He smirks. “I could ask if you’ve figured out your complicated mess of feelings towards Sylvain, if that’s better?”

Ingrid blinks. “What?”

Claude laughs. “Oh, come on, Ingrid. You can’t seriously expect me not to have noticed.”

She leans away from him and then immediately regrets doing so at the glint of victory in Claude’s eyes. Leaning away means she’s uncomfortable and it means that she’s confirming all of his suspicions: something she very much doesn’t want to do. 

“Sylvain and I are roommates,” she says again, with a bit more force. 

Claude chuckles. “I thought we were past this point in our relationship, _Ing_.” 

Hearing Sylvain’s nickname on his lips makes her feel funny. She shifts in her seat and Claude smirks, obviously picking up on her discomfort. 

“It really doesn’t matter,” Ingrid says instead. “It’s also none of your business because I didn’t come here to talk about Sylvain.”

“No,” Claude agrees. “You probably came here to talk to me and try to validate what you’re feeling for Sylvain by burying it under half-formed and half-forgotten feelings that we shared, right?”

Ingrid crosses her arms. “I really hate you sometimes.” 

He winks. “Nah. We wouldn’t be here if you hated me.”

“If you knew that this wasn’t about you and me, why did you come?” Ingrid asks. 

Claude laughs again. “Because we’re friends, aren’t we? Sometimes it is just nice to catch up with a friend, after all.”

Ingrid bites her lip. “How long did you know?”

“That you were in love with Sylvain?” Claude clarifies and she hesitates, but nods. He pauses, considering. “I think since the second time I picked you up from your place.”

Ingrid stares. “What?” She flounders for a second. She has only just figured out that she’s in love with Sylvain and it’s a bit alarming to know that Claude, her _ex-boyfriend_ , has known longer than she has. “But,” she mumbles, trailing off. 

“Oh, I knew that you didn’t know, but, come on, Ingrid, you can’t tell me you never thought the two of us were similar people.” 

She shifts in her seat, frowning. “I guess I knew, I just was trying not to think about it? I like to think I didn’t just date you because you’re like Sylvain.”

Claude fakes relief, wiping his forehead dramatically. He winks. “That’s reassuring. I think I would need to seriously reevaluate my life if I was only seen as a copy of Sylvain.”

Ingrid laughs at that and takes a sip of her beer. She has forgotten how much she does enjoy Claude’s sense of humour. It’s one of the reasons that she did date him for as long as she did because he’s always been able to make her smile or laugh. 

“I did like you,” Ingrid assures him. 

Claude’s smile becomes a tad more genuine as he finishes the rest of his drink. Ingrid mirrors him. He reaches across the table, tapping her knuckles where they sit on her glass and nods to her. “I never meant to imply that you didn’t. And, for the record, I liked you too, Ingrid.”

She uncurls her hand from the glass and drops it palm-up on the table. Claude’s hand slips on top of her instinctively and he draws lines from the tips of her fingers to the centre of her palm, an action that is familiar to both of them from when they had been dating. 

“I think,” he says, “that you and I are better off as friends, as much fun as this is.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “I think that’s implied.”

He chuckles and looks down, drawing a swirl around the centre of her palm that makes her skin tingle a bit. It’s a light, teasing touch, and it makes her think of other things that she and Claude have done and other places he has brought that touch. And then, because her brain hates her, it makes her think of the places that she wants Sylvain to touch. She closes her hand and draws out of his touch. 

“If anything,” Claude continues, ignoring the fact that she has shied away from him, “us being friends probably means that Felix and Sylvain won’t try to remove my head with a glare.”

Ingrid tenses, frowning. “What?”

Claude laughs. “Oh, come on. You had to have seen how protective those two get over you. Although, I guess Felix was probably mad about the Annette incident as well, but it was mostly over you.”

Ingrid bites her lip. No matter what she says to them, Felix and Sylvain have always judged everyone she has ever gone out with, Claude included. Claude _especially_ , she corrects herself. Felix had been extra hard on Claude and Sylvain had never failed to voice his dislike of Ingrid’s ex-boyfriend. 

“We’ve known each other since we were kids,” she excuses. “I’m the only girl. They’re bound to get like that.”

Claude shrugs. “Did Felix threaten to beat up his own brother?”

Ingrid blinks. “What?”

He laughs. “Fraldarius told me he would break all the bones in my hand if I dared to wrong you. It was kind of sweet actually. I’m more just curious if he gave the same talking-to to his brother.”

Ingrid sours a bit at the mention of Glenn. While hers and Claude’s break-up had been clean and polite, hers and Glenn’s had been quite the opposite. In fact, it had been so much of a mess that Ingrid hadn’t been able to even talk to _Felix_ for a week because it had hit too close to home. But, as far as she knows, Felix hasn’t actually made threats to any of her partners except, apparently, Claude. 

“Felix didn’t like that Glenn and I dated and he was mad at both of us when we broke up, but, no, he never threatened to fight his brother. Or me, for that matter.”

Claude nods. “Well, aren’t I just special.” He taps his finger against his chin jokingly as he ponders. “I did enjoy the Sylvain glares every time we dared to display some PDA. Those were a bit more fun than real threats from Felix.”

Ingrid huffs. “Sylvain and I know everything about each other. You were my only real relationship since Glenn, so yeah, he was a bit touchy about it.” She fidgets with her glass, watching a bead of perspiration roll down the outside. “He had to clean up a large part of the mess when Glenn and I broke up. He just doesn’t want to have to do that again, especially because you’re friends with Dimitri and some of the others too.”

Claude looks like he doesn’t quite believe her, but he doesn’t push it, looking instead at their empty glasses. “Refill?”

Ingrid looks over to the bar and flags a waitress down. “Tequila please,” she orders, holding up four fingers. “With salt and lime.”

Claude raises an eyebrow at her. “It’s that kind of night?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m here to get out of the apartment. You’re the one who brought up the ex-boyfriends. Besides, I know you can handle your shots.”

Claude grins at her. “Never said I couldn’t. But, you do remember where this landed us last time, right?”

Ingrid leans forward, not one to back away from a challenge and she lets her eyes dart down to Claude’s lips. “I do,” she says. 

He smirks again. “Right and is that same end result a goal or just an accident if it happens?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” she replies as the barmaid returns, depositing a plate of lime, a salt shaker and two shots each. 

Claude takes her hand, turning it over and licks a thin line along the inside of her wrist. He lifts the salt shaker, shaking it a few times until the crystals collect on her skin. He then repeats the motion for his own wrist and hands her the shaker. She shakes it onto him and then Claude picks up both of his shot glasses, leaning back from her a little bit. 

Ingrid taps one of her glasses against his and licks the salt on her wrist before pounding back the first shot. She immediately takes the second shot then and grabs for a slice of lime, biting into it as the bright citrus flavour bursts into her mouth. 

Claude shivers after the shots and they both laugh. 

* * *

By one in the morning, the bar is emptying out and Ingrid and Claude are both suitably drunk enough to head home. He tells her that he’s walking home and she calls herself a Pegasi to get home. Despite their jokes earlier, Ingrid has no intention of either going home with Claude or bringing him back to the apartment. 

He stands with her in the cool air outside the bar as they wait for her car to arrive and Claude keeps his hands tucked into his pockets as they chat quietly. When the car rolls up at the curb, Ingrid takes a deep breath and turns to him.

“Are you disappointed?” she asks. 

Claude smiles. “Nah.” He takes a step closer to her and Ingrid makes the final push, leaning up to give him a short kiss before she pushes back, blinking at him. His smile twists into something a bit bittersweet. “Not a bad date, if I have anything to say about it,” Claude continues. “But, let’s not make a habit out of it.”

* * *

The light in the living room is on when Ingrid gets home and she stares at it for a moment as she closes the door behind her, puzzled. She could have sworn that she had turned the light off. As she stands in the doorway, Sylvain’s dishevelled head pops up over the back of the couch and Ingrid stares at him in surprise. 

Her gut instinct is annoyance because if he looks like that and he’s here, it probably means he brought a girl back, but then Ingrid takes in the sleepiness on his expression and realizes that his messy hair is probably just a result of falling asleep on the couch. They are both still for a moment, staring at each other before Sylvain shifts, pushing himself into a real sitting position on the couch. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hi,” Ingrid replies. She steps on the backs of her shoes and slides them off and then walks into the kitchen. She pours herself a glass of water and then looks back at Sylvain. He’s still staring at her. “I thought you weren’t coming home,” she says. 

He shrugs. “We didn’t click like I thought we might. I, uh, was worried when you weren’t here when I got back.”

Ingrid frowns and puts her glass down, digging into her purse for her phone. Sure enough, she has an unread text from Sylvain asking where she is. “You could have called me.”

“I trust you,” he says. “I knew you probably just went out, but I figured I’d wait up anyway.”

Ingrid is touched that he waited for her, even if he probably was dozing on the couch. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Wanted to,” he says and he gets up from the couch, strolling into the kitchen. Because she knows him so well, she catches the curious edge in his gaze. “So, what did you get up to tonight?”

“Just went for drinks,” she says evasively, not really sure that she wants to admit to Sylvain that she not only texted Claude but met up with him and even kissed him, especially with what Claude had said to her earlier. 

Sylvain nods slowly but Ingrid notices that his gaze catches on her lips. She frowns and touches the edge of her mouth and finds a smudge of her lip gloss in the corner of her lips. “What?”

Sylvain steps back from her. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” He takes another step away and then pauses. “You know, you don’t have to tell me everything, but you also don’t have to lie to me about going on dates.”

Ingrid’s breath catches. “Oh.”

He shrugs. “It’s good to see you branching out, Ing.”

She swallows something bitter and jealous that makes her want to say that she can’t say the same because she doesn’t like it when he goes on dates, but she doesn’t know how to do that without making everything so much more complicated. 

Sylvain yawns and rubs at his hair, messing it up further. “Well, you’re home, so I’m gonna pass out.”

“Okay,” she replies, picking up her glass of water to keep her hands from shaking. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Sylvain grins. “Goodnight.”

Ingrid watches him walk out of the kitchen and down the hall before he disappears into his bedroom. She touches her lips again and thinks of the way that she had kissed Claude and the way that she wants to kiss Sylvain. Ingrid drains her glass of water and refills it. She’s tipsy and she’s glad that Sylvain hadn’t stuck around too long.

She might have said something monumentally stupid if he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background Ships: (will be updated as more are revealed)  
> \- Mercedue  
> \- Felannie  
> \- Dimileth
> 
> Past Ships: (will be updated as more are revealed)  
> \- Dorolix  
> \- Dorovain FWB  
> \- Glenn/Ingrid  
> \- Claude/Ingrid


	5. track 5: 'cause there we are again on that little town street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blue Lions (plus a few) reunite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUNNI
> 
> to the fluff queen comes the fluff update
> 
> _nobody worry about the fact that this is 'all too well', okay?_
> 
> **Track 5: All Too Well**  
> 

_track 5: ‘cause there we are again on that little town street_

* * *

“Remind me again why we agreed to host this?” Ingrid groans and they lower the couch to the ground. 

Sylvain laughs at her and dusts his hands off. “Because Felix’s Fhirdiad place is a shoebox and Dimitri and Byleth are still looking for somewhere permanent and everyone else has only signed short-term leases or are staying with family.”

Ingrid sighs. “Right.”

She looks around the apartment. They had borrowed a few folding chairs from their neighbour so that they could actually fit their friend group in seats around the apartment and they have rearranged the furniture in their living room to make the small apartment seem bigger. It does mean that the armchair is in front of the TV, but it’s not a big deal. Sylvain has an external speaker that he can use to play music and they have enough to talk about that Ingrid can’t imagine them getting caught watching TV tonight. 

“What time is it?” she asks Sylvain. 

He looks down at his watch. “Almost 6. Do you want to shower first?”

She nods. “Yeah, I’ll be quick.” 

He waves her off. “Don’t worry. I’ll watch the oven too, just don’t use all the hot water.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes at him, but makes her way to the bathroom, turning on the fan. She takes a quick shower and then as she leaves the bathroom, a towel wrapped around herself, she waves to Sylvain to let him know that he can take her place in the bathroom. He flashes her a thumbs up from where he’s on the phone with someone in the living room and Ingrid ducks into her bedroom. 

She changes quickly, pulling on leggings and a nice-ish top. There isn’t a dress code set for tonight, but she figures she probably shouldn’t wear one of Sylvain’s shirts, as soft and comfortable as they are, because that will only spread the wrong ideas to her friends, some of whom she hasn’t seen in person in what feels like forever. 

Sylvain is already out of the shower and in his room with the door closed by the time that she emerges from her own room and she heads into the bathroom to hang her towel up. She pauses in the bathroom to comb out her wet hair and Sylvain walks in, not wearing a shirt, while she’s doing so to hang up his own towel. 

Ingrid pauses, the comb level with her ear, as she stares at him. He’s wearing a pair of black joggers and he grins at her. 

“What colour shirt do you think I should wear?” he asks. 

She considers her options for a moment. Her gut instinct is white, but she’s not sure her sanity can deal with white-shirt Sylvain with wet hair so she goes with the next best option. “Grey?”

He nods. “Got it. Thanks.”

He disappears then and Ingrid sighs, refocusing on combing her hair out. She dabs on a bit of mascara in her room before she hears the buzzer for their apartment ring. She quickly shoves the wand down just as Sylvain yells for her to get it.

Ingrid rolls her eyes fondly and hurries into the main room and buzzes whoever has rung their buzzer up. A minute later there is a knock on the door and Ingrid opens it quickly. Standing on their doorstep is Ashe and a woman she doesn’t recognize. 

“Ashe!” Ingrid exclaims, opening her arms and drawing her friend into a hug. 

Ashe beams and hugs her back. “Ingrid! It’s good to see you!”

When Ingrid pulls back from the hug, she smiles at Ashe’s friend. “You must be Petra, right?”

The woman nods. “It is nice to be meeting you, Ingrid. I have heard many stories.”

Ingrid smiles. “I’ve heard the same about you!” And she has. From hers and Ashe’s frequent text conversations, he has been incredibly open about how highly he thinks of his Brigidese girlfriend. 

“Who’s here?” Sylvain calls out as he strolls into the living room, having taken her advice about the grey shirt and having tamed his hair into almost his usual style. He grins widely when he sees Ashe and Petra. “Oh, hey!”

Ashe waves to Sylvain. “Petra, this is Sylvain. Sylvain, this is my girlfriend Petra.”

Petra smiles brightly. “Hello!”

Sylvain holds up a hand as he appears to do a mental calculation of sorts. Then, when he speaks, it’s in a language that means absolutely nothing to Ingrid and she blinks at him in surprise. Petra, on the other hand, bursts out laughing. 

“You speak with a Srengi accent!” she says, “But you are very close with what you are trying to say!” Then, she repeats what Sylvain had said, but with a slightly different pronunciation on one of the words in the middle. 

It clicks to Ingrid then: Sylvain had spoken in Brigid to Ashe’s girlfriend. She raises an eyebrow at her roommate and he just shrugs and waves Ashe and Petra further into the apartment. Ingrid is about to close the door when the door buzzer goes off again and she pushes it, allowing someone else access into the building. She lets the door soft-close and walks back into the living room where Sylvain is already playing host, asking Ashe and Petra if they would like a drink or anything. 

After a minute, the door swings open and Felix, Mercedes, and Dedue walk into the apartment, already chatting. Mercedes waves to Ingrid and Dedue and Felix both nod in her direction and she waves at them in return. 

“Just close the door behind you!” she calls out. 

Sylvain slides behind her in the kitchen, his hand trailing along her back, just as it had at Dorothea’s a few weeks ago and Ingrid holds her breath so she doesn’t shiver at the touch. Ashe immediately starts up a conversation with Mercedes and Dedue, introducing Petra, and Felix strides over to Sylvain and Ingrid. 

Ingrid opens the fridge and pulls out the veggie platter that they had prepared earlier and places it on the counter. She tactically ignores Felix and looks at Sylvain. “I didn’t know you spoke Brigid.”

He shrugs. “It has the same language roots as Srengi, hence the aforementioned accent, so I picked up a few phrases here and there through work and in preparation for today to make Ashe’s friends look good in front of this girl that he really likes.”

Ingrid laughs lightly and pats his shoulder. “That’s surprisingly thoughtful, Sylvain.”

He winks back at her. “I do my best.”

Ingrid turns to Felix. “Hi. Drink?”

“Beer?” he replies and she nods, dipping into the fridge and grabbing him an FPA. She and Felix have always had the same taste in alcohol and he nods to her in thanks as he cracks it open. 

He lingers around the kitchen after, like he’s not sure if he should go engage with the rest of their friends or hang around Ingrid and Sylvain who are both buzzing in host mode. Ingrid raises an eyebrow at Felix and he narrows his eyes at her in return. 

“She’s not here yet,” Sylvain chimes in and Felix’s glare shoots at the redhead. 

Ingrid can’t help but smile at that and her opportunity to say something else is cut off by the fact that the door buzzer goes off again. Ingrid jolts, but Dedue waves at her across the room as he wanders to the door to get it. She relaxes a bit and then grabs a drink of her own from the fridge and ushers Felix out of the kitchen right as Sylvain opens the oven to put the large cookie sheet of nachos into the oven. 

Dimitri and Byleth seem to have met up with Annette on the way up as the three of them arrive together, bringing an even louder and brighter cacophony of noise into the apartment as introductions whirl and people hug and laugh. Ingrid hangs back a bit, sipping from her drink and Sylvain leans against the counter next to her, grinning widely. 

“It’s nice to have everyone here,” he says. 

She nods. “It’s going to be a good summer,” she agrees. 

“Ingrid!” Annette cries, finally done greeting everyone else as she pushes through and throws herself into a hug. 

Ingrid laughs and catches Annette, hugging the short redhead back tightly. She pats Annette’s back until the smaller woman releases her, leaning back with a wide smile on her face. 

“It’s so good to see you guys!” Annette says excitedly as she pulls Sylvain into a matching hug. 

Ingrid looks between Annette and Felix who is lingering nearby, his gaze fixed on the redhead and presses a knuckle to her lips to hide her smile. Annette seems to notice Felix then and she goes completely rigid as she smiles at him. 

“Felix!” she basically squeaks.

His lips twitch. “Annette.”

Ingrid grabs Sylvain’s arm and drags him towards Dimitri and Byleth. As much as she wants to bother Felix, she knows that it’s probably a good thing to leave them alone and not let Sylvain really get to teasing the pair. Thankfully, Sylvain doesn’t fight her about it, letting her drag him over to Dimitri and Byleth. Byleth looks a little overwhelmed by everything that’s going on with all the new faces, but she brightens when she sees Sylvain and Ingrid. 

“Hello!” she greets. 

Ingrid waves and Sylvain reaches around Mercedes to grab Byleth, tugging her further into the apartment, past the greeting-point traffic jam in their entrance. Byleth laughs but lets herself get drawn into the kitchen by Sylvain who starts offering her food and drinks. Ingrid turns back to the rest of the group clustered by the door. 

Mercedes notes the traffic jam and pulls her fiance and Ashe further into the apartment, smiling warmly at Ingrid as she does. Petra trails after her boyfriend and that leaves Ingrid with Dimitri, whom she had last seen the night that they met up for drinks. 

Dimitri looks around the apartment. “This place hasn’t changed at all, has it?”

Ingrid laughs. “You mean you can’t tell that we rearranged half of our furniture to fit 10 people up here in a space probably optimal for 6?”

He smiles. “Hi, Ingrid.”

“Hi. I know Sylvain’s got Byleth covered, but can I get you anything?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “I’m alright. I’m still not drinking, but a glass of water maybe?”

Ingrid nods. “Come on. There’s a lot to catch up over!” 

* * *

After a few hours, Annette and Ashe have started up some rounds of party games and Ingrid is starting to overheat in the apartment. She slips out the front door to get a breath of air in the hallway and stumbles across Dimitri who is talking on the phone with someone, keeping his voice low. Ingrid freezes and turns to go back inside, but Dimitri sees her and shakes his head at her, silently assuring her that it’s not a problem that she is outside. 

She lingers then, studying her friend curiously. He doesn’t stay on the phone much longer, just long enough to say goodbye, and then he pockets his phone and smiles sheepishly at her. 

“Sorry, work is something else right now.”

Ingrid shrugs. “Summer is busy for most people, it’s no sweat.” 

She steps a bit further from the door and leans against the wall, sliding down so that she’s sitting with her legs extended. Dimitri copies her on the other side of the hall, but he’s tall enough that he has to bend his knees so his legs actually fit across the width of the hallway. 

“Thanks for hosting this,” Dimitri says after a moment. 

Ingrid waves him off. “Hey, they’re our friends too. We’re the ones most permanently settled in Fhirdiad so we’re happy to be of help when we can.” She smiles. “Sylvain said it earlier, but I really do think it’s nice to have everyone together like this. It feels like ages since we’ve all been in the same city.”

Dimitri nods. “It does feel a bit odd.” He looks towards the apartment door. “It’s odd how despite how much we all change as people, none of this seems to go away.”

Ingrid shifts her foot, knocking it against Dimitri’s thigh. “We’re friends, Dimitri, that’s kind of how it’s supposed to be.” She pauses. “But, you are right. It’s nice to see that nothing seems to change. Felix and Sylvain will still bicker like they do and Ashe and Annette will still be the lovely sunshines we know them to be.”

Dimitri chuckles. “Yes, but we’re this far into this friendship so I should hope that the bickering never stops.”

Ingrid laughs. “They wouldn’t be our friends if that wasn’t the case, right?”

Dimitri nods, his expression fond. “I should thank Sylvain later tonight for helping with Byleth. She can get a bit overwhelmed in social situations, but he’s doing really well bringing her into everything. It’s nice to see her like this.”

Ingrid tilts her head. “I’ll pass the message on if you don’t get the chance.” Dimitri looks like he’s going to say something else, but then he hesitates. Ingrid raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“You and Sylvain,” he starts and Ingrid blinks. “I know there isn’t anything between you two, but, I’ll admit, I guess I had always thought there might be.”

Ingrid is surprised at that. “Really?”

He shrugs. “You two have always been close and you’re the only one who has ever really been able to rein him in.” His hands drop into his lap and he shifts. “But, then you dated Glenn and Sylvain just kind of stepped back on that one.”

She frowns. “Stepped back?”

Dimitri winces. “I shouldn’t say much else. It’s not my place.”

She bites her lip, trying not to dwell on that fact. “Right,” she mumbles. She flattens her palms against her legs. “Glenn and I broke up a long time ago, Dimitri.”

“I know,” he says simply. “But you and Felix haven’t ever quite been the same since.” He shakes his head. “Sylvain bounced back after that whole thing and I guess that’s when I really wondered if there might ever be something between you two.”

Ingrid looks back at the apartment. She is about to open her mouth and say something to Dimitri, probably an admission of the fact that he’s not entirely wrong since she is head-over-heels for Sylvain, but then the door opens and the man in question pokes his head out. 

He looks surprised to see Dimitri and Ingrid sitting on the floor of the hallway and he steps out of the apartment towards them. “Hey,” he says. “You guys disappeared.”

“Needed some air,” Ingrid says. 

Sylvain nods and sits on the floor next to her, leaning his head on her shoulder. He’s warm against her, like always, and Ingrid avoids Dimitri’s gaze, looking down at her lap so that she doesn’t have to try and explain the easy domesticity between her and Sylvain. They’ve been like this the whole time they’ve lived together, but it’s harder to explain that to someone who hasn’t physically been a consistent presence in their lives recently. 

“I just had to make a call and we were catching up,” Dimitri says. It’s not a lie, because Dimitri doesn’t lie, but it’s a half-truth that protects Ingrid and she’s grateful for it. He seems to have recognized that whatever conversation they had been having is not one for Sylvain’s ears. 

“Your girlfriend is something else, man,” Sylvain says to Dimitri, smiling. He doesn’t move his head from Ingrid’s shoulder. 

Dimitri blinks. “She is?”

“She may be small, but she eats like Ingrid! I’ve never met anyone who eats like Ingrid!”

Ingrid bursts out laughing. Her seemingly-bottomless stomach might have been something that embarrassed her years ago, but Sylvain’s words are fond and humorous and Ingrid recalls Dimitri’s gratitude to Sylvain for bringing Byleth into a normal social interaction so seamlessly. 

Dimitri smiles and glances at the door. “I guess she does,” he says. “I have never tested her, really, but she eats almost anything.” He pushes himself to his feet and steps over Ingrid and Sylvain’s legs, heading back to the apartment. “I’ll just,” he cuts off, waving to the door. 

Ingrid lifts a hand in a casual farewell as Dimitri slips back into the apartment, leaving her alone with Sylvain. He’s still flopped against her, his head drooped on her shoulder. Ingrid tries to shrug him off, but he just laughs, shifting with her until they’re almost toppling over sideways.

She’s still not exactly sure what to make of everything that Dimitri had said to her, but the one thing it does do is make her even more thankful that Sylvain stayed in Fhirdiad with her while the rest of their friends scattered. It’s nice to be able to get the Blue Lions and some additions back together, but it’s equally nice for Ingrid to laugh with Sylvain in the hallway of their apartment building. 

“Is everything okay with you and Dimitri?” Sylvain asks after a moment. 

“Oh, yeah,” she assures. “I just overheated and he was taking a call and we were really just catching up a bit one-on-one.” She nudges him with her elbow and he does sit up this time. “Dimitri wanted to thank you for what you did for Byleth inside.”

Sylvain waves a hand dismissively. “She’s great. She was doing totally fine on her own. She and Felix are already getting along swimmingly.”

Ingrid laughs. “Is that a good thing for the sake of our apartment?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Felix doesn’t have any of his ceremonial swords at our place, so we should be okay.”

She snorts at that. “Thank the goddess for that.” 

He nudges her back. “So do I get a hint about Saturday yet?”

Ingrid rolls her eyes and pushes herself up, forcing Sylvain to drop his head from her shoulder. She offers him a hand and tugs him up to his feet. “You absolutely do not get a hint.”

“Oh come on! Hilda has been sending me the most threateningly unthreatening texts all week.”

Ingrid shoves him back towards the apartment where they can hear the sounds of their friends' laughter. “Hilda is not threatening you, you big baby. Saturday is going to stay a surprise and you can die mad about it.”

“But it’s my birthday!”

“That’s the point!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you not to worry. 
> 
> Look it's a fluff fic, okay? With this update, I've officially run out the buffer I had when I started this fic, so I probably won't be touching it now until space fic is finished. Anyway, I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nicolewrites37) so come say hi!
> 
> Background Ships: (will be updated as more are revealed)  
> \- Mercedue  
> \- Felannie  
> \- Dimileth  
> \- Petrashe
> 
> Past Ships: (will be updated as more are revealed)  
> \- Dorolix  
> \- Dorovain FWB  
> \- Glenn/Ingrid  
> \- Claude/Ingrid


	6. track 6: we're happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Sylvain's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I've had a very productive day and managed to put a pin on the last bit of this chapter's draft. If I keep it for later I know that I'll just be thinking about posting it constantly, so I'll just drop it now and move on with my studies (probably a lie).
> 
> **Track 6: 22**  
> 

_track 6: we’re happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time_

* * *

Ingrid wakes up early on Saturday to go to the gym. She works out in the private facilities attached to their building and makes it all the way back upstairs and into the shower before Sylvain’s door even opens to indicate that he’s awake. Ingrid rolls her eyes but doesn’t attempt to wake him, opting to hop into the shower instead. 

When she leaves the bathroom fifteen minutes later, his door is closed, but she can at least hear movement which means that he’s awake now. Ingrid retreats to her room and gets dressed for the day, donning a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. She gets halfway through making her breakfast before Sylvain finally leaves his room. 

His hair is rumpled and he looks tired as he waves to her and ducks into the bathroom. The shower starts up a moment later and Ingrid just shrugs to herself, finishing her breakfast bowl and retreating to the couch with it. She knows that he’ll be in the shower for at least a little while, so she pulls out her phone, opening her conversation with Annette. 

Annette Dominic  
  
What time should I bring him over?  
  
not until 8:30 at the earliest! we've got the place started at 7:30 and we need to decorate!!!!!  
  
He's really not going to care about the decorations.  
  
but that's half the fun! just get him here at like 8:45 and it'll all be gooooood  
  
he still doesn't know, does he??  
  
No. I'm not that bad at secrets. It helps he knows I'm hiding something, but he has stopped pestering me, at least.  
  
good!  
  
okay well wish him a happy birthday from all of us! we'll see you tonight!  
  


Ingrid resists the urge to tag on a comment about Felix being present at the party tonight, but she decides not to. Knowing Annette, her friend would have hyper-fixated on that point and they probably would have had trouble getting everything set up with a distracted Annette around. It makes more sense for her to tease later tonight when fewer things can go wrong. 

Sylvain emerges from the bathroom at long last, wearing joggers and a white shirt and rubbing his towel through his hair. “Good morning,” he greets, yawning halfway through the sentence. 

Ingrid smiles at him. “Good morning.” He trails into the kitchen like he’s sleepwalking and drapes his towel over one shoulder. She gives him a second to reply or to say something about the day, but he doesn’t, so she continues, “Happy birthday.”

Sylvain fumbles with the carton of milk so badly he nearly drops it. “Oh,” he mutters dumbly. “Wow, that is today.”

Ingrid laughs. “You’ve been pestering me all week about the party and yet you wake up today and you somehow forgot?”

Sylvain gives her a helpless shrug. “Hey, I’m still half-asleep. Can’t really blame me, can you?”

Ingrid hums thoughtfully. “Well, I could blame you, but since I’m supposed to be nice to you or something today, I won’t.” 

He claps his hand over his heart and winks at her as a grin spreads across his face. “Well bless my aching heart! Is this really Ingrid Galatea being nice to me? Unprompted?”

She scrounges around on the couch for something to throw at him but comes up only with her phone or her breakfast so she sticks her tongue out instead. Sylvain’s grin doesn’t waver as he basically skips into the living room, dropping into the armchair as he stares at her. 

“So,” he starts. 

“So,” she echoes teasingly before she shoves another spoonful of her food into her mouth. 

“What’s the plan for today?”

“We’re going for lunch with Felix,” Ingrid answers immediately, deftly avoiding the topic he really wants to talk about. 

Sylvain groans. “Ingrid, please! I’m really good at pretending to be surprised!”

“Nope!” she replies, feeling a bit giddy. “You don’t get to know until we get there.”

He groans again and she bursts out laughing. 

* * *

“Okay,” Sylvain says as they walk down the road towards the bar. “Why are we going this way?”

Ingrid smiles at him. “Well, we have a bit of time before I’m allowed to bring you to the location, so I figured that we could kill some time and grab a drink at Azure Moon first.”

Sylvain taps his chin thoughtfully. “Alright, I can get behind this idea.”

Ingrid looks away from him so that she doesn’t laugh and ruin the secret. Annette has confirmed that it is fine if they show up any time now, so Ingrid has not-so-subtly been steering them towards the bar that they have rented out for the occasion. Thankfully, Sylvain doesn’t seem to have figured out what’s going on yet, so she counts it as a win. 

When they reach Azure Moon, Ingrid lets Sylvain step in front of her and push the door open. He doesn’t seem to notice the sign that reads “Closed for Private Event” as he steps inside and Ingrid follows him in. For a moment, there is just silence as Sylvain looks around the decorated, empty bar, confused. 

Then, there is a loud cry of: “SURPRISE!” and all of their friends jump out of their various hiding places, throwing their arms out and popping confetti poppers. Sylvain stands there, completely stunned, before a wide grin breaks out on his face. 

“Woah,” he says. He turns around and looks at Ingrid. “Not gonna lie, you really had me there.” He slings an arm around her shoulder and she punches him in the side lightly. 

“Happy birthday, Sylvain,” she replies, still smiling. 

Their friends make their way over to them and Ingrid is ecstatic to see so many familiar faces. Of course, all of the Blue Lions are here, plus Petra and Byleth, but Dorothea and Hilda and Marianne and Leonie and Lysithea are here and she even spies Lorenz lurking towards the back of the group. Sylvain takes his time greeting everyone and Ingrid regrettably has to let him take his arm off her shoulder so that he can give hugs to all of the people who have gathered to wish him a happy birthday. 

Byleth and Annette break off from the group and bring out a table from the backroom that is stacked with presents and the bartender wanders out as well, heading back over to the bar, ready to make drinks. Ingrid slinks over to him, ordering herself and Sylvain their usual drinks and by the time that she has the drinks in hand, Sylvain and Felix are walking towards her. 

She passes Sylvain his beer and he grins at her. “Thanks, Ing!” 

She taps her glass against his and they both drink. Ingrid likes the look on Sylvain’s face right now. He looks like a kid: smiling and bright-eyed. There’s a static screeching sound from the corner of the bar right as Ingrid opens her mouth to say something and she shuts her mouth, her head snapping in that direction. 

Hilda and Annette have dragged out the bar’s karaoke machine. Hilda looks over at Ingrid and Sylvain and points at Sylvain, beckoning him with the crook of her finger. Sylvain chuckles and Ingrid smiles into her drink, nudging him. 

“Get over there, Birthday Boy.”

“Not without you!” he says gleefully, grabbing her arm and dragging her along with him. Ingrid yelps and Felix snatches her glass from her so that she doesn’t spill it as Sylvain drags her towards the front of the room. 

“Sylvain!” Ingrid cries, struggling against him. “I do not sing!”

He grins at her and her heart flips. “It’s my birthday, Ingrid! Won’t you just give me one song?”

“Why don’t you sing with Annette or Dorothea?” she tries. “They can actually sing.”

He laughs. “But you’re my best friend, so your argument is invalid.”

Before Ingrid can argue again, Sylvain has dragged her to the front of the room by the karaoke machine. Annette beams at them as they approach and Hilda holds out a microphone to Sylvain. He takes it and immediately passes it to Ingrid. Hilda raises an eyebrow and holds out another mic to Sylvain. 

He winks at Hilda and drags Ingrid forward. Ingrid throws Hilda a “save me” look, but Hilda just winks and backs off. Sylvain stops in front of Annette and drops Ingrid’s arm. 

“Hi, guys!” Annette greets warmly. “What song do you want?”

“Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” Sylvain says immediately and Ingrid’s eyes blow wide. 

Annette nods enthusiastically and turns to queue it up. Sylvain looks back at Ingrid and he must catch a bit of her wide-eyed, startled look because his excited expression falls a little and he softens. 

“Hey, Ingrid, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

She shakes her head. She and Sylvain have been singing karaoke together since they were children and they’ve been doing it in front of their friends for years. It’s normally a blast and she isn’t one to let the messy feeling in her stomach ruin something that is a staple in their friendship, especially on Sylvain’s birthday of all days. 

“No,” she says. “I’m good.” She steals his beer and takes a drink before she turns and hands it to Hilda who just swiftly spins it away to a free table as the music starts. 

Sylvain grins and Ingrid laughs, holding the mic back, as she turns her body away from him. He launches seamlessly into the song and she finds herself smiling as she answers his lines. One of their friends who sounds suspiciously like Dorothea cheers and Ingrid forces herself to focus on Sylvain and the wide grin on his face as they sing together. 

The song is four minutes of cheesy nonsense and Ingrid’s stomach turns a bit as it crescendos to the end and then fades out. She’s not the best singer, but she’s good enough to carry the tune and Sylvain does most of the work as the song wraps up. They both laugh when it’s over and Sylvain slings an arm around her, pulling her into a side hug. 

Annette quickly steals the microphones out of their hands, passing them off to Leonie and Hilda who have claimed the next song and Ingrid ushers Sylvain out of the way. He takes his beer back from the table next to the make-shift stage and Felix appears quickly, handing Ingrid her own drink. As the adrenaline from the performance fades, Ingrid starts to feel suddenly very flustered and confused.

She and Sylvain had just effortlessly duetted on a classic love song that is equal parts silly and romantic. Her cheeks are warm so she angles her face away from Sylvain and chugs almost half her drink. Felix raises an eyebrow at her, but Sylvain just laughs again, slinging his arm over Felix’s shoulders. Ingrid smiles, but it feels tight and almost forced, so she averts her gaze a bit as her stomach tightens again. 

“Thanks for the song, Ingrid!” Sylvain says, seemingly completely blind to the way that she is shying away from him after the performance.

“Sylvain!” Dorothea yells from across the bar as Leonie and Hilda’s song starts up in the background. “We’re doing shots!” 

Felix starts dragging Sylvain away and Ingrid turns fully away so that Sylvain can’t give her those puppy-dog eyes that she knows she’s weak to in order to convince her to join them at the bar. She takes another long sip of her beer and hopes that it will be convincing enough to blame her flush on the alcohol. Most people seem either focused on Hilda and Leonie's performance or Sylvain and Dorothea doing shots, so she prays that she’s in the clear from her notoriously meddling friends. 

Apparently, she’s not too convincing, as it only takes a minute of her standing off to the side for Mercedes to find her, linking their arms together as she wordlessly drags Ingrid off towards the bathroom of the bar. 

As soon as the bathroom door swings shut, Mercedes drops her arm and pulls Ingrid into a proper hug. Ingrid, a bit bewildered, pats Mercedes’s back awkwardly until her friend lets go. Mercedes pulls back but leaves her hands on Ingrid’s shoulders as she studies Ingrid’s expression. 

“You okay?” Mercedes asks. 

Ingrid nods, trying to be convincing. “I’m fine.”

Mercedes sighs and smooths out a wrinkle in Ingrid’s shirt at her shoulder. “Ingrid, you don’t have to lie to me. I did see your reaction to that whole bit back there.”

Ingrid covers her face and huffs. Her cheeks are warm and she knows that she has to be blushing, as much as she really doesn’t want to be. “What am I doing, Mercedes?” 

Mercedes giggles lightly, but Ingrid isn’t offended. She probably would have laughed too if their situations were reversed. “Well, first, let’s back up. When did you realize that you were in love with him?”

Ingrid lowers her hands and frowns. “You knew?”

Mercedes pats her arm. “Ingrid, I hate to tell you this, but you’re not exactly subtle about your feelings. I always had my suspicions back when we were all around more often, but the moment that you two met Dedue and I for dinner, I knew.”

Ingrid sighs. “I just don’t know what to do! He’s my best friend and we’re just doing stuff that used to be normal for us. None of this used to be weird at all. Why can’t it just go back to being not weird?”

“Because, now that you’re aware of your feelings, you’re reading into his actions more too,” Mercedes explains simply. “You’ve always been able to read Sylvain, it’s why you guys are such good friends, but now that you’re thinking about him differently, you’ve completely changed the way that you’re reading into his actions as well.”

Ingrid nods slowly. Unfortunately, it makes sense. She has tended to overthink about the casual touches that she and Sylvain have shared and she even panicked about sharing the bathroom with him, nevermind the fact that they’ve been living together for _years_. He’s seen her at her lowest lows and her highest highs and Ingrid’s terrified that that will all just disappear. 

“I think I’m afraid of scaring him off,” she confesses. 

“Don’t be,” Mercedes assures. “Look, Ingrid, if I hadn’t already figured out that you were into him, I could probably write off your behaviour as nothing major. If you’re really worried about it, I’m sure Sylvain hasn’t even picked up on anything.” She gestures back to the bar. “He’s been pretty well distracted by everything else that’s going on tonight.”

Ingrid nods slowly. It’s a fair point. Sylvain is hyped on adrenaline and energy from being surrounded by people whose energies are just feeding him further. It’s his birthday so he should be excited. 

“How do I make it not weird?” she asks Mercedes. 

Mercedes shrugs. “I don’t think there’s such a thing as “not weird”, but, honestly, if you just go out there and be the same Ingrid you always are to his Sylvain, even if that means you blush a bit, I don’t think it’s a problem. After all, maybe it’ll lead to something you actually want it to.” 

Ingrid takes a deep breath and smooths out the front of her shirt. “Right.” She fidgets with the bracelet on her wrist for a second and then draws Mercedes into a hug. “Thank you. For checking in and for the advice. I appreciate it a lot.”

Mercedes laughs. “Of course. I can’t have you dipping out on the wedding party because you can’t be in the same room as Sylvain after all.” 

* * *

By the time that they make it back to the apartment, it’s almost three in the morning. With Mercedes’s advice, Ingrid had managed to return to the party and be as not-weird as possible around her roommate. It did mean that she had avoided Dorothea for most of the night, not in the mood for teasing, and had unintentionally avoided Dimitri too. She’s still thinking about what he had said back at the get together at hers and Sylvain’s apartment. 

Sylvain manages to get his keys out first, brandishing them with a smug smile and a wink and Ingrid rolls her eyes, leaning against the wall as she waits for him to unlock the door. It takes him a couple of tries, to her amusement, but they do eventually make it inside the apartment. She holds onto his shoulder while she kicks off her shoes and ducks away before he can do the same, much to his chagrin. 

She darts into the kitchen, smiling to herself, and grabs two glasses from the cupboard. She pours two glasses of water and hands one to Sylvain once he catches up to her. He takes it and looks between her and the glass almost suspiciously. 

“What’s this?”

“It’s water, Sylvain,” she answers, rolling her eyes. “Neither of need to drink anything else tonight.”

He laughs. “Aw, come on, I was having fun! Besides, it’s my birthday!”

She shakes her head and sips from her own glass. “Technically, it’s morning so no, it is no longer your birthday.” She taps the bottom of his glass, narrowing her eyes. “Drink.” 

Sylvain chuckles, but he does drink the glass. He downs it quickly and Ingrid blames her intoxicated self as she watches the column of his throat as he swallows. She tears her eyes away and turns to the sink, busying herself by immediately washing out her glass. Sylvain might be drunk too, but he’s not stupid. He would notice if she was staring at him weirdly. Normal Ingrid wouldn’t stare at Sylvain so that means Drunk Ingrid doesn’t get to either. 

Sylvain reaches around her, pushing the glass out of her hands into the bottom of the sink. “Don’t worry about it, Ing. We can deal with that tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, she listens, stepping away from the sink. Sylvain gives her a lop-sided grin and grabs her hand. His hand is warm as he tugs her into the living room. He leads her to the couch where he sprawls out on his back. He pulls on her hand like he wants her to join him, and Ingrid rolls her eyes, pulling out of his grip. She sits on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against it. 

Sylvain immediately sits up on the couch. “What are you doing?”

“Couch isn’t big enough for both of us,” she points out.

He hums, agreeing, and then he gets up, bending his knees and sitting on the floor next to her. She laughs and nudges him. He nudges her back. This continues for several minutes until they’re both laughing too hard to say anything coherent. 

Sylvain shifts first, stretching to lay on his back, parallel to the couch. He blinks up at her, his eyes honey-gold in the dim light of their living room. Ingrid can read what he’s about to ask her before he does it, so she slides away from the couch, lying down on the floor opposite him so that their heads are level with each other. 

Sylvain takes a deep, audible breath and Ingrid twists her head to look at him. He’s smiling up at the ceiling. “Thank you, Ingrid,” he says. 

She blinks. “For what?”

He waves to the ceiling vaguely. “Today. I know that you were the driving organizer behind all of that. Everything was super cool. I had a great day.”

A soft smile creeps across her face unintentionally. “Of course,” she says. “You’re my best friend Sylvain.”

His head turns towards her and he smiles. Her heart lurches as he blinks at her slowly, still smiling. Sylvain is pretty. He’s always been pretty and he’s always known it, but Ingrid has been so good at ignoring this fact until recently. Even now, when it’s almost four in the morning and they both should definitely not be awake, she can’t help but want to stay here forever just to look at him. 

“You were surprised?” she asks. 

“Oh, definitely! How the hell did you manage to plan all of that without me finding out?”

Ingrid laughs. “I had help. Mercedes and Annette, mostly. But, I think my real success comes down to the fact that you knew I was hiding something.”

Sylvain chuckles. “Yeah, because if you had tried to tell me there was nothing at all, I would have seen through you in an instant.”

“Exactly.”

Sylvain rolls towards her so that he’s propped up on his side and leans forward. Ingrid goes completely still as he lightly presses a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks, Ingrid,” he says again, softer. 

She reaches up and bumps his shoulder with her hand. “Yeah.” 

* * *

They end up staying up far, far too late. They lie on their living room floor talking about the party and their friends and everything and nothing until they both drift off. Ingrid doesn’t regret it for a minute right up until she wakes up the next day with a sore back, sore neck, and Sylvain’s hand just inches from her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you need me, I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nicolewrites37)


	7. track 7: sometimes you wonder 'bout me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dress fitting and a shopping trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello!! I know it's been a while. like a few months a while, and I have some answers. firstly, December was exam season + also my crunch to finish my 60k sylvgrid big bang fic (which is posted and you should check it out if you like [Zombie Apocalypse AUs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554354/chapters/69974784) ). After that, it's been the posting period for the Sylvgrid Big Bang and I wanted to give ample time and opportunity to highlight all the amazing things people wrote during that time.
> 
> but! it's now time for me to go back on my bullshit with fluffy sylvgrid, like they deserve. updates from here forward shouldn't be every few months, but they are at the whim of my academic life and when I can find time to actually do some writing. in addition, i'll also be preparing for this other thing.... which you should check out [here](https://twitter.com/SylvgridTs).
> 
> and of course, I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nicolewrites37) ;)
> 
> **Track 7: I Almost Do**   
> 

_ track 7: sometimes you wonder ‘bout me _

* * *

Sylvain pulls the car to a stop outside the boutique in the ‘No Parking’ zone. Ingrid immediately unlatches her seatbelt and reaches for the door handle on the passenger side. Sylvain’s hand shoots out, catching her arm and she pauses, looking back at him. 

“Hey,” he says. “Call me when you’re done, okay? I’ll pick you up after.”

Ingrid nods. “Of course. We shouldn’t be too long I don’t think. It’s just trying on some dresses.”   


He releases her arm and flashes his familiar grin. “But don’t rush either. I know that it’s nice for you to be able to catch up with the girls every now and then.”

She rolls her eyes at him and opens the door, forgoing further farewells. She pulls her purse out of the car with her, nudging the door shut behind her as she steps up onto the curb. Ingrid looks up at the boutique and lets out a heavy sigh. She has never been one for the pageantry of weddings, but she loves her friends so she’s doing this for Mercedes. With that in mind, Ingrid pushes forward, opening the shop’s door and stepping inside. 

Immediately, she is ambushed by Annette as the redhead leaps towards her, pulling her into a tight hug. Ingrid stumbles under Annette’s sudden weight but manages to stay upright. She pats the shorter woman’s shoulder awkwardly. 

“You made it!” Annette says excitedly. 

Ingrid laughs. “Of course I did. I said I would be here, didn’t I?”

Mercedes laughs, standing from the waiting bench to Ingrid’s right. “You did,” she agrees. “But, you are five minutes late which is usually unheard of for you.”   


Annette detaches herself from Ingrid and leans back, blinking at her innocently. “Yeah! Since when is the great Ingrid Galatea ever late?”   


“Since Sylvain, I would guess,” Hilda says dryly. 

Ingrid blinks, looking at the third woman present. Hilda is walking towards her from the back of the boutique, flanked by two attendants. Hilda tosses her bubblegum pink hair over her shoulder as she gives Ingrid a sharp smile. 

“Well, yes, it is Sylvain’s fault I’m late, but that’s mostly because there was nowhere for him to park or pull over,” Ingrid explains. She isn’t sure exactly what Hilda had been attempting to imply about why Sylvain had made her late, but she doesn’t want to give the wrong idea, especially since Mercedes knows exactly how Ingrid feels about Sylvain. 

Mercedes ends up being her saviour as she clasps her hands together, stepping between Ingrid and Hilda. “Well, you’re here now! We should move onto the dresses. I’m excited for you guys to see them!”

Ingrid smiles and nods, letting herself be guided further into the shop by the attendants. She places her purse down on one of the sitting couches as an attendant asks her for her name. She introduces herself and the woman smiles, spinning away to grab a garment bag that is labelled with her name off a dress rack. 

She doesn’t have an opportunity to ask Mercedes about the style of the dresses before she is being herded into a dressing room with the fancy garment bag. The attendant hangs the bag before unzipping it, revealing a light yellow dress. On the hanger, it’s very pretty, but Ingrid isn’t sure what the colour will look like on her.    


“Let me know if you need any help,” the attendant says cheerfully as she disappears out of the changing room. 

Ingrid closes the curtain behind her and hastily changes into the dress. It’s a bit too long, so she has to be careful not to catch her feet on the hem, and it is a little loose in other areas. Overall though, the dress is beautiful. It’s a light, breezy fabric with a v-neck and thin straps to hold it up. The back is mostly open, but it’s revealing in only a subtle, pretty way. 

The dress oozes Mercedes’s charm. 

Once she has the dress on but not completely fastened, Ingrid pulls the curtain back and steps out into the main part of the boutique, smiling shyly. Annette and Hilda are already out, wearing matching dresses. Mercedes, who had been flitting around Annette, beams, and Hilda studies Ingrid as she approaches, putting a hand on her hip. 

“I have to hand it to you, Mercedes,” Hilda says finally, a smile twisting her manicured lips. “You managed to pick a colour that suits all of us.”   


She’s right. The dusty yellow colour manages to not clash with Annette’s red hair, Hilda’s pink hair, and Ingrid’s own blonde hair. Plus, the colour is lovely for a summer wedding like Mercedes and Dedue are planning.    


Mercedes turns away from Annette. “Oh, it looks lovely! Annie was the one who recommended this style to me and Dedue was actually the one who picked the colours for the wedding. I’ve been focused on other things.”

It doesn’t surprise Ingrid at all that Dedue was the one to choose the colours. Ingrid remembers that he had spent most of their undergraduate years working in a florist shop. It seems like a silly thought—tall, towering Dedue working with dainty flowers—but Ingrid has never met someone more talented at keeping plants alive. 

Annette giggles. “Aw, you can’t pawn all the praise away, Mercie! You did pick the dresses after all.” Annette does a little twirl, letting the skirts flare a bit. 

Ingrid opens her mouth to warn Annette about the length of her dress, but she’s too late as the short redhead trips, almost tumbling onto the sitting couch. Mercedes, thankfully, manages to catch Annette before she falls or rips the dress. Hilda immediately laughs and holds up her own skirts as she walks over to the mirrored walls, admiring the dress.    


One of the attendants waves for Ingrid to follow Hilda so she steps over to one of the pedestals. As soon as she’s raised off the ground, the attendant reaches for the back of her dress, cinching it in so that sits snugly around her chest. The dress is pinned there and the attendant quickly moves onto the hem. 

Hilda, whose dress is also being worked on, shoots Ingrid a sly look. “So,” she drawls. “Do I get to know the story about you and Sylvain or is that just something everyone else gets to know?”   


Ingrid gapes. “What?”

Hilda laughs. “Oh, honey, don’t act so surprised. I could see right through you at Sylvain’s birthday party.” 

Pressing her lips together, Ingrid drops her gaze. She smooths her hands over the front of her dress as she considers the answer to Hilda’s question. Hilda has always been more Sylvain’s friend than hers, but she knows that the Leicester-born woman isn’t one to go running around spilling Ingrid’s secrets. 

“What about me and Sylvain?” Ingrid asks tactfully. Just because Hilda won’t go running to Sylvain, doesn’t mean that Ingrid actually wants to spill her guts. 

Hilda giggles. “Ah, well, word on the street is that you’re no longer in complete denial about being in love with him.”   


Ingrid looks in the mirror, searching for Mercedes behind her. The soon-to-be-bride just smiles at her, neither confirming nor denying that she was the one who told Hilda. Annette, now sitting next to Mercedes, is staring at Ingrid with an excited look on her face. 

“No,” Ingrid admits finally. “I’m not.”   


Annette gasps excitedly, clasping her hands together. “Oh, this is exciting! Are you going to tell him?”

Ingrid shakes her head. “No. Absolutely not. Sylvain is my best friend and I’m certainly not planning on trying to ruin any of that.” 

Hilda hums. “It’s a shame, you know. Everyone and their mother can see that the boy likes you too.”   


Ingrid bites the inside of her cheek. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. Sylvain has never treated me any differently so I really would have to disagree with that.”   


“That, Ingrid, is exactly my point,” Hilda continues. 

Ingrid pauses. The argument doesn’t exactly make sense to her. Sylvain has always treated her like a friend, nevermind what external parties may interpret his actions to be. “What does that mean?”   


Hilda twists towards her, to the displeasure of the attendant trying to adjust her dress, and sighs. “Ingrid, honey, if Sylvain likes you and isn’t treating you any differently than he always has, what do you think that means?” 

_ It means that he has always liked her_, Ingrid’s traitorous brain fills in. Instead of voicing that thought, Ingrid chooses to stay silent. She watches in the mirror as the attendant pins the hem of her dress up so that it will be the correct length when she’s wearing heels on the day of the wedding. 

“The dresses are lovely, Mercedes,” Ingrid says, completely avoiding the subject. 

Hilda groans exaggeratedly. “You’re no fun, Galatea. I guess I need a new target.”    


“Let’s talk about Felix!” Mercedes chimes in. 

Ingrid lifts her head, looking at Annette in the mirror. The redhead is blushing almost as dark as her hair as she groans, covering her face. 

“Please no,” Annette almost begs. 

Ingrid laughs. She understands Annette’s despair, but she is also curious about her friend’s love life. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Annette,” she points out. “We’re just curious.”   


Annette brushes back her hair, patting her flushed cheeks as she pouts. “No, it’s fine,” she mumbles. “It’s not like I’ve been particularly good at handling that myself.”   


Mercedes giggles. “Aw, Annie, I’m sure that you’re not reading into things.”   


“Has Felix actually done anything?” Ingrid asks. 

Annette throws her hands up. “I can’t tell!” she complains. “One minute we’re conversing at your apartment about how we’ve been in the last few years and the next minute he won’t even dance with me at the bar! What am I supposed to think about that?”   


Hilda scoffs. “Oh that just sounds like Felix,” she points out. “Doesn’t he tend to get like that with feelings? All Mr. Avoidance?”   


“Sometimes?” Ingrid answers. Of the four of them, she has known Felix the longest and she hopes that she has some understanding of how her friend works. “He isn’t really one for the whole dancing in front of people thing.”    


Annette pouts. “I know, I know. But I wish he would at least dance with me for one song.”

Ingrid laughs. “Well, Annette, from someone who has known Felix for a very long time, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Someone’s phone chimes and Ingrid glances over her shoulder at the sitting couch where all their bags are sitting. Annette holds up Ingrid’s purse as the text tone dings for a second time and then a third.    


“That one is you, Ingrid?”

Ingrid looks down at the attendant. The woman nods and smiles, leaning back. She has finished marking up the edge of Ingrid’s dress, leaving her free to step off the pedestal and retrieve her phone. Annette hands her purse over and Ingrid immediately recognizes the name on the screen of her phone.   


She rolls her eyes. “So much for taking my time.”   


Sylvain Gautier  
  
i had a thought  
  
we should go buy the wedding gift after  
  
i'll treat you to lunch so you have to say yes  
  


Ingrid smiles to herself. Before she can even type out a reply, Sylvain is texting her for the fourth time. 

Sylvain Gautier  
  
i’m picking you up anyways so if i just drive us to the mall it’s not like you have a choice  
  
Geez, Sylvain, if you’d actually let me reply I would have said that that sounds like a good idea.  
  
Let me see how much longer we’re going to be  
  


She lowers her phone and looks at Mercedes. “Was there anything else you needed from us?”  
  


Mercedes shakes her head. “Just wanted to make sure that the dresses fit and everything. If that’s Sylvain bothering you, don’t let us keep you.”   


Ingrid opens her mouth to protest and Hilda laughs loudly. “I wouldn’t worry about him. He whines a lot but he’s so stuck on you that I’m sure that you could ghost him for a week and he’d still drop everything to come back to you.”   


She decides not to dignify that with a response and heads back into the changing stall instead. Quickly, she changes back into her shorts and top and hangs the dress back on the hanger for the garment bag, being careful not to mess up any of the markings for where it needs to be hemmed or taken in. 

“The dresses are lovely, Mercedes,” Ingrid says again as she re-emerges. “I can’t wait to see what your dress looks like.”    


Mercedes’s smile widens. “Oh! Would you like to see a picture? I’m having my mom’s dress altered.”   


Ingrid hurries to her friend’s side, sitting on the couch next to her. Annette slides over to make room for Hilda to squeeze between Annette and Mercedes as the pink-haired woman steals a glance at the photo on Mercedes’s phone.    


The photo is a bit blurry but the dress is gorgeous. It’s a vintage gown in a crisp white shade with lace-capped sleeves and a round neckline that leads into a gentle skirt. It’s a very classic, traditional dress and Ingrid knows that it will look incredible on Mercedes.

She smiles and squeezes the soon-to-be bride’s arm. “It’s beautiful, Mercedes.”   


Mercedes giggles. “Isn’t it? My mom thought it would be nice to add some lace along the back to match the sleeves and I have to get the skirt hemmed a bit since she’s taller than me, but it’s everything I wanted out of a dress.”   


Ingrid nods. “It suits you.”    


Her phone beeps again and Mercedes laughs. “If that is Sylvain bothering you then you should go. I know you don’t have many days off so I’m glad you could come down and get fitted for the dress.”   


Ingrid rolls her eyes as she reads Sylvain’s next text. “I’ll tell him to come back in like twenty minutes. That way we have a little more time.”   


“More time to pester you about what he looks like post-shower?” Hilda teases.    


Ingrid’s jaw drops and her face heats up. “Hilda!”

* * *

By the time Sylvain does arrive back at the boutique to pick her up, Ingrid is about five seconds away from smacking Hilda. The woman is lovely, really, but she is also the nosiest person that Ingrid has ever met and Ingrid is friends with Dorothea _and_ Sylvain. So, it is with a great deal of patience and restraint, that she extricates herself from the situation and hurries to the curb to meet Sylvain when he illegally pulls over so that she can get into the car. 

She groans as soon as the door closes and rubs her temples. Sylvain laughs at her and immediately pulls out into traffic. 

“I thought that you were having fun?” he asks. 

She punches his shoulder. “I was. Hilda is just—” She cuts herself off, gesturing vaguely. 

Sylvain chuckles. “Ah, yes, Hilda. I sometimes forget that she and Mercedes are friends. Honestly, sometimes I forget she and I are friends.”   


Ingrid snorts at that. “That seems impossible. You and her are both entirely unforgettable.”   


He looks at her, giving her a wide smile that does funny things to her stomach. “Unforgettable, huh?”   


She presses her lips together. “Don’t let it go to your head, idiot.” 

Sylvain just keeps grinning, but he does let the subject drop. “I looked through Mercedes and Dedue’s registry while I was waiting for you. They asked for a bunch of kitchen stuff so I figured we could pick something up from the Monastery.”   
  
Ingrid nods. “That sounds like a good idea. Was there anything in particular that stood out to you from the list?”

“A stand mixer,” he says. “It’s useful for both cooking and baking. Plus, if we find one for a good deal maybe we can buy a knife block or something too.”   


Ingrid digs her phone out of her purse and pulls up the website for the Monastery. She looks up stand mixers and finds one listed at 250 dollars. When Sylvain stops at the next red light, she tilts her screen so he can see it and he nods. 

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. They’d both get a good amount of use out of it.”   


Ingrid hums. “Are you sure this isn’t your way of trying to bribe Mercedes into baking for you?”   


He laughs. “Maybe a little, but can you blame me?” 

“Absolutely not,” Ingrid agrees. 

* * *

Sylvain carries the stand mixer under one arm as they wander through the mall away from the Monastery. Thankfully no one else had purchased it off the registry and between the two of them, Sylvain had managed to convince Ingrid to buy both the mixer as well as the set of wine glasses that are in the bag that she’s carrying. Now she’s ready to take him up on his offer for a late lunch as they wander towards the food court of the mall. 

They’re walking side by side through the mall’s gallery and Ingrid’s free hand barely grazes against his. She quickly pulls away and bites her lip, transferring the bag to her right hand so that she doesn’t do something silly like try to hold Sylvain’s hand. He doesn’t seem to react to her motion, continuing to chatter on about something that Byleth had texted him the other day and Ingrid nods along, only half listening. 

Once they reach the food court, they claim a table and Sylvain places the mixer down. “I can grab the food if you want to hold the table. I was thinking Dagdan?”   


Ingrid nods. “That’s good with me.”   


Sylvain grins and strides away, hands in his pockets as he whistles under his breath. He’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous and handsome and charming and she loves him. Ingrid sinks into one of the metal chairs of the food court and sighs, rubbing her temples. 

She’s been trying her best to keep things as normal as possible between her and Sylvain, but it’s hard. It’s hard when she’s constantly second-guessing herself and even reading into his actions. Her friends have been very clear about what they think Sylvain feels, but Ingrid knows that they don’t know Sylvain like she does.    


They don’t know how he hides behind layers of barbed charm and playful smiles and how he leads on girls because he can, not because he has any real feelings towards them. 

She bites her lip as her gaze wanders finding the back of his head as he orders from the restaurant. She lifts the bag with the glasses in it onto the table and places it down, letting her arms rest. She checks her phone again and sees three texts from Annette and two from Mercedes, but before she can open them, she hears someone calling her name. 

Ingrid twists in the chair, looking over her shoulder. To her surprise, she sees two people that she recognizes standing just a few feet away. She laughs brightly and stumbles to her feet, lifting a hand in greeting.    


“Ignatz! Raphael!”

The two men hurry towards her. Ingrid takes a moment to study them. Raphael looks as he always has: burly and happy and exuding positive vibes. Ignatz looks a little different. He doesn’t seem to sink into his friend’s shadow anymore and it’s like he’s carrying himself with more confidence. Raphael had been the one to call out to her originally and he is the first to speak once they close the distance. 

“Hey, Ingrid! I thought that was you!” he booms, grinning widely. 

Ignatz smiles at her as well and Ingrid steps forward, pulling him into a hug. She hasn’t seen either of them in a few years—not since Marianne’s birthday back when both women had started their veterinary degrees.    


“It’s been a while,” Ingrid says, looking between the two men. “What are you doing here?”   


“Oh, we’re here to pick up a gift for Mercedes and Dedue,” Ignatz explains. His eyes dart past Ingrid to the Monastery bags on the table she had abandoned. “I could wager a guess that you’re here for a similar reason.”   


Ingrid nods. “Yeah. So I guess I’ll be seeing you at the wedding.”   


Raphael nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! It’ll be super cool to get everyone back in one place again. I heard there was quite the crowd around for Sylvain’s birthday recently. I’m sorry we missed out!”

Ingrid laughs lightly and looks over her shoulder to where Sylvain had gone to get them food. He’s still waiting at the counter, but as if he can feel her gaze, he looks at her and tips his head in slight confusion when he spots her talking to two other men. 

“Not that we wouldn’t love to catch up, but we should probably get to shopping,” Ignatz excuses. “Raphael’s supposed to be home for dinner with his sister and knowing him, we might be here for a while.”   


Raphael laughs heartily. “You got me there!” He grins one last time at Ingrid. “It was nice to see you, Ingrid.” He holds out his arms for a hug and Ingrid obliges, letting him squeeze her tightly before he starts retreating. 

Ignatz hesitates one moment longer than his friend. “It is really nice to see you again, Ingrid,” he says quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a shyer smile. 

She brushes back some of her hair and smiles faintly. “It’s nice to see you guys again.”    


With that, Ignatz disappears after Raphael and Ingrid returns to the table, tapping her fingers over the vinyl top as she waits for Sylvain to bring their food. It only takes a minute before he returns, presenting the plastic tray to her with a flourish as he sits down across from her. 

He seems a bit distracted, looking past her to where Ignatz and Raphael had disappeared to. “Was that Ignatz?”   


“And Raphael,” Ingrid confirms. “They’re here to shop for the wedding as well.” 

“Huh,” Sylvain says, scratching his head idly. “Haven’t seen either of them in ages.”   


“A couple of years, yeah,” Ingrid replies. “I think we’ll be seeing a lot of people at the wedding.”   


He hums in agreement. She watches him take a bite of his food for a second before she decides that she’s safe enough to start eating her own food. Unfortunately, Sylvain waits until she has put a forkful of noodles into her mouth to say his next comment. 

“I wonder if Ignatz still likes you.”    


Ingrid almost chokes. She forces herself to swallow and then puts her fork down, staring at Sylvain. “What?”   


He shrugs. “He used to have a thing for you. It was kind of cute.”   


There’s something about Sylvain’s tone that makes her think he doesn’t actually think it was cute. She studies him for a moment—lips drawn into a line, brows flat, eyes looking down—and wonders if he might be _jealous_.    


She shakes the thought away. It’s a very un-Sylvain thing to be jealous. She must be reading into it too much again. 

“Of course not,” she grumbles in response. 


	8. track 8: and i used to say, "never say never"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a very special anniversary and that means it's time to commiserate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentine's day! i was trying to think of something i could post today that would be sappy and stupid and then i realized that this chapter was drafted and could be posted because what's better than silly fluff fic on valentine's day.
> 
> and i know this update is relatively quick compared to the last update but from here on out the updates are going to be very dependent on when i have time to write around school and other projects. 
> 
> on that note, there's more sylvgrid and taylor swift incoming starting in March, so you should check it out [here](https://twitter.com/SylvgridTs) and get hyped. 
> 
> i'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nicolewrites37) if you want my not-so-hot takes and copious amounts of sylvain art retweets.
> 
> **Track 8: We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together**  
> 

_track 8: and i used to say, “never say never”_

* * *

Ingrid is lying on the couch scrolling through her social media feed when the door to the apartment opens. She sits up abruptly, hooking one arm over the back of the couch so that she can stay upright as she watches Sylvain strut into the apartment. 

He’s still dressed in his work clothes, a fitted suit with a tie hanging loosened around his neck and shiny black shoes, but his hair is ruffled and he’s carrying a bag labelled with the brand for the liquor store that’s on their corner as well as what appears to be take-out of some kind. 

“I come bearing gifts!” he announces proudly. 

Ingrid raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know it was St. Cichol’s Day.”

“It’s not,” Sylvain agrees. “I just thought today would be a good day for wine and take-out.”

Ingrid can’t deny that she is inclined to agree with Sylvain. Work had been exhausting and, knowing Sylvain’s taste in booze, she knows that he’ll have picked out a decent enough bottle of wine that will serve to both get them drunk while also tasting good. She stands up from the couch, stretching her arms out until her shoulders give a loose, satisfying pop. 

“What did you get?” she asks as she wanders towards the kitchen. 

Sylvain is already digging into the cupboards to get two wine glasses and two bowls out. “I went with Albinean Noodles. Figured it might be one of those kinds of days.”

Ingrid brightens at the mention. “From Alba Berry?”

He nods. “I’m not an animal, so of course. If I’m putting the effort in to buy food, I’m going to buy it from the best place.”

She sighs, relieved. Stepping up next to Sylvain, she digs out the two containers from the paper bag, placing them on the counter. Even through the containers, Ingrid can smell the rich spices of the noodle dishes and her mouth waters. She pops the top on one and sees the thinly sheared beef on top.

“That one is yours,” he says, picking up the other one. 

Ingrid reaches over him to take one of the bowls and she empties her food into it, careful not to spill any of the scalding liquid. As soon as she places the disposable container down, Sylvain hands her a set of chopsticks. She takes them, poking at the beef floating atop the broth to poke it down into the hot liquid so that all of it is cooked through. Already the wafting smell of food is making her hungry. 

Carefully, she picks up her bowl and wanders out of the kitchen. She ends up forgoing their actual table, heading into the living room and sitting cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table. This position has her at about the right height to eat when she places the bowl on the table. It also lets her watch Sylvain as he pours two rather large glasses of wine. 

He seems more focused on supplying her with her glass before worrying about her own food as he carries both the glass and the now half-full bottle over to the table. She swirls her chopsticks through her noodles as she waits for him. His glass gets placed on the table next to hers and he himself sits on the couch, cradling his food in his lap. 

He is about to take a bite of his food when he seems to notice that Ingrid has yet to actually start eating, staring at him instead. “Ingrid?” he questions. 

She snaps her eyes down, almost immediately shovelling in a mouthful of noodles so that she doesn’t have to deal with his line of questioning. She’s been out of it all day. Leonie had had to step in to help her at work today when she almost prescribed the wrong antibiotic to a dog that she had seen. Ingrid counts herself lucky that her coworker had been paying attention. 

Ingrid can still feel Sylvain’s eyes on her as she eats and tries to ignore him. The noodles are delicious, as always, and Ingrid is more than a little glad that she doesn’t have to worry about cooking tonight. Knowing her distraction, she probably would have burned down their apartment. 

Finally, Sylvain seems to get at least mildly frustrated with her avoidance. “Ingrid,” he repeats, a little more firmly. 

She looks up. 

His head is cocked slightly and his brow furrowed. The corner of his mouth is twisted downwards in a frown. The fading evening glow in their apartment turns his hair a brassy colour and gives his honey-brown eyes a golden glow. 

He’s pretty. 

“You okay?” 

She nods hastily. “Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sylvain presses his lips together. After a pause, where he seems to be doubting her sincerity, he reaches out and nudges her wine glass towards her. Ingrid lifts it, taking a sip. The red wine is smooth, but not heavy. If she had to guess, it’s an Adrestian wine. Faerghus isn’t known for its light, summery wines. 

“Well, I mean,” Sylvain mutters, trailing off. 

Ingrid sighs and takes another, larger sip. So he remembers. And, if she takes a guess, it would absolutely be the reason that he brought her take-out and wine tonight. He had known she would need it. Almost as she does every year. 

“I’m not thinking about it,” she claims. 

Sylvain chuckles. “Right. I definitely believe you.” 

“I’m not,” she says stubbornly even though she has definitely been thinking about it all day. It’s one of the reasons that she’s been so out of it. 

Sylvain lets her go back to eating in silence, but she can feel his gaze every time he steals a look at her. Ingrid drains her first glass of wine before her bowl of noodles is even empty and Sylvain wordlessly refills it, curling the bottle as he finishes pouring so that he doesn’t drip onto the coffee table. 

She gives him mumbled thanks and takes another sip. The wine is both more and less good as she continues to drink. It’s still the same high-quality bottle and the fuzz it gives her is more than welcome, but it seems to taste almost bitter as she gets closer to finishing her second glass. Across the coffee table from her, Sylvain matches her drinks, emptying the end of the bottle into his glass. 

Once her chopsticks can spin through the broth in her bowl without finding any more parts of the noodle bowl, Ingrid sighs and carefully rests them across the edge of the bowl. She pushes her hair back out of her face and looks at her roommate. He quirks an eyebrow at her when she finally makes eye contact with him. 

“I hate today,” Ingrid finally complains. “It’s been years. Why can’t today just be a normal day?”

Sylvain’s mouth twitches upwards into a near smile. “Because that’s the way the heart works, Griddle.”

He holds out a hand for her bowl and she slides it across the table to him so that he can sweep it away, placing both of their empty dishes in the kitchen sink. He digs into the cupboard to the left of the fridge before returning to her side, pulling out a second bottle of wine. 

“This one isn’t quite as good as the first bottle, is that okay?”

Ingrid nods and drains the rest of her second glass. “Quality isn’t going to matter shortly.”

Sylvain laughs. “Maybe you should have some water first.”

She makes a non-committal noise, but he takes it as a yes, filling her up a glass of water before returning to the couch. He sits back on the couch and holds out the water glass to her. Ingrid takes it slowly, retracting her hand back to her side of the table. Sylvain, in response, pats the couch next to him. 

“Come here,” he says. “No use sitting on the floor when you don’t have to.” 

She laughs shortly, but carefully pushes herself up, wandering over to sit on the couch next to him. Sylvain doesn’t push her. He sits quietly next to her, waiting until she drinks half the glass of water before he undoes the screw top on the bottle of wine. 

It’s another bottle of red and when he tilts the bottle up, Ingrid sees the name of the Leicester winery on the label. Sylvain takes a drink directly from it and then offers it to her. Ingrid raises an eyebrow at him, but he just shrugs. She takes the bottle, taking a long swig herself.

This wine is certainly more bitter than the other bottle and she makes a face as she swallows. The buzz of a pre-drunken tipsiness does ward off the bad taste for the most part as Ingrid huffs. Without thinking too hard about it, she slumps towards Sylvain, leaning her head against the side of his arm. 

“It’s my fault,” she says finally, once it feels like the heavy silence between them is going to crush her. 

“What?” he questions. 

She waves a hand vaguely. “All of this. I wish I hadn’t fucked it up so badly,” she mumbles. 

Sylvain scoffs. “You? Fuck it up? Come on, Ingrid. That one isn’t all on you at all. There’s no way. We all know what Glenn is like.”

She twists, rubbing her forehead against his arm as her frown deepens. “It isn’t though,” she protests. “It was a mutual thing. Messy, and awful, but it was mutual.”

Sylvain shrugs and then nudges her until she leans back. He looks surprisingly serious. “Grid, why are you blaming yourself? All the stuff I know seems to point to both of you deciding that it wasn’t working.”

One of Sylvain’s hands comes up to brush aside some of her hair. Ingrid’s breath hitches and she quickly looks away, breaking the intense eye contact he was trying to maintain. 

“He was emotionally unavailable,” Ingrid assents. “But, it’s not like I was any better. We never talked about anything.”

Sylvain prods her gently with his elbow. “And that’s why you guys broke it off,” he says. “You weren’t in a good relationship. No one should be faulting you for wanting to break that off.”

Ingrid sighs. “I just wish that it hadn’t made everything between Felix and me so weird. That was the _worst week ever_ , Sylvain.” 

He gasps, faking offended. “I sure hope it’s not because I was around all the time.”

Ingrid can’t help but laugh at that, even if it makes her chest ache too. It certainly has something to do with the fact that Sylvain was always around, even if she will never, and _can never,_ admit that to him. Especially since Glenn, on the night of their contentious breakup, had accused her of having feelings for Sylvain.

Back then, Ingrid had vehemently denied it, but now, Ingrid isn’t sure what to think. She has feelings for Sylvain now and has for a while, but she has no idea if that contributed to her specific dissatisfaction with Glenn and their relationship. Terrifyingly, she’s not sure if that makes the whole situation better or worse. 

“Do you remember what happened the day after you and Glenn broke it off?” Sylvain asks suddenly. 

Ingrid pauses, racking her brain to try and come up with something. She remembers getting really, really drunk with Sylvain and watching horrible movies for most of the afternoon and evening. He had been out in the morning, but he had been such a good friend to her that evening. She had needed him. Felix had refused to talk to her that week, and she didn’t see Dimitri either. The only reason she spoke with anyone was because of Sylvain. 

“Not specifically?” she confesses. “We were pretty drunk.”

Sylvain’s lips twitch. “I gave him a black eye.” 

Ingrid’s jaw drops. “You did _what_?”

“I punched him,” Sylvain admits readily. “That’s why Felix wasn’t talking to me either that week.”

She rubs her face. “Sylvain, what the hell? Why did you do that? Wasn’t Glenn your friend too?”

His hand drops, landing on her knee. Ingrid’s leg burns through her leggings and she slowly lifts her head, looking at him. Carefully, as if she might burn him, she places her own hand on her leg and uncurls her fingers. Her fingertips graze, just barely, the edge of his hand. Sylvain doesn’t pull back, but he doesn’t move towards her either. 

Ingrid holds her breath. 

“Sure,” Sylvain answers finally, “but if I had to pick a side, I was going to take yours.”

Ingrid nods slowly. “I don’t know whether to keep scolding you or to say thank you.”

He grins at that. “Nah, let’s just let it lie, huh? Let the past be the past?”

She rolls her eyes, but decides, for the sake of an honest conversation, to let it go. She reaches out, over Sylvain’s extended hand, and picks up the wine bottle from the coffee table. She takes a heavy sip again, and Sylvain quickly tugs it out of her hand, taking a long drink for himself. 

“It’s not like it matters anymore,” Ingrid points out. “It’s been literal years.”

Sylvain hums in agreement. “You’re right, in that sense.” He takes another drink from the bottle before tipping it towards her. He waits until she’s lowering the bottle before he continues talking, but Ingrid still almost chokes. “Claude is more recent though, yeah?”

Ingrid stares at him. “What does Claude have to do with this?”

Sylvain shrugs. “I dunno, I just know he’s around. I guess I was wondering if you knew.”

She feels guilty, somehow, for hiding the fact that the date she had gone on—the one that he had stayed up to wait for her to get home from—was with Claude. Even though, if anything, it was just two friends catching up, she feels almost guilty about seeing Claude without Sylvain knowing. Especially since Claude had made it clear that he knew she had feelings for Sylvain. 

“I did,” she admits. “I saw him, actually.” 

She doesn’t elaborate on the when or where of seeing Claude, but her admission does seem to catch Sylvain off-guard a bit. She sees it in the way that his shoulders tense even as his lips purse. It’s not necessarily an expression of distaste, but he certainly seems perplexed. 

“You have?” 

Ingrid nods. “We went for a drink.”

“Like a date?”

She’s not sure what his fixation on this is about. Almost defensively, she leans a bit away from him. His hand slides off her leg and she tucks her feet up onto the couch in retaliation. Her crossed legs make it so that he can’t lean into her—make it so that she can’t be distracted or thrown off by his closeness. 

“It was just a drink, Sylvain. We’re not interested in each other like that anymore.”

There’s a flicker of something on his face. It almost looks like relief. She has no idea what to do with that knowledge, but Sylvain takes it upon himself to fill the silence. 

“Dorothea made a comment to me about him when you were dating him that I thought was interesting,” he begins casually. 

Ingrid tenses. She knows _exactly_ what Dorothea thinks of Claude, and had thought of him back when she was dating him. She tries not to let her nervousness or discomfort show on her face, but it’s hard when she’s still buzzing from the amount of wine that they have consumed tonight. 

“What did she say?” 

“That you were dating Claude only because you weren’t dating me.”

Ingrid’s heart sinks. Her mouth goes dry and her ability to deny whatever Sylvain was going to say vaporizes. It’s as if she has suddenly lost the ability to hold a coherent conversation with her roommate. Her roommate who is also her best friend and the, unfortunately, love of her life. 

“Really?” she squeaks out. 

Sylvain shrugs. He leans back on the couch, draping an arm along the top. “I thought it was silly, but Dorothea says a lot of things, mostly to try to get a rise out of me.”

Ingrid laughs and hopes that her smile is enough to get Sylvain to move on to other conversation topics that might have less of a chance of having her fuzzy, drunk self confess her adoration to him. 

Because, if he asked, she’s not sure that she could actually deny having feelings for him. 

The more she drinks, and the more time she spends around Sylvain, the less she finds herself wanting to deny it. 

Still, the desperate desire to keep their friendship—a friendship that has been so important to her through her life—has her keeping her mouth shut about that subject. She, instead, picks up the TV remote and flicks it on. The static sound of some cooking show in the background is enough to distract from conversation. 

Ingrid tries to pay attention to the show, but Sylvain’s arm is hovering along the back of the couch and she wonders if she might be able to get away with sitting closer to him. It’s stupid and motivated almost entirely by her drunkenness, but she uncrosses her legs partway through. 

Somehow, Sylvain is actually the one who closes the distance, poking her shoulder lightly, and then pulling on her forearm until she slides closer to him. Ingrid nestles against his side, feeling the warmth radiating from his torso, and holds her breath. She feels safe. Sylvain is safe and warm and familiar. 

His arm slides off the back of the couch to rest over her shoulders and she leans into him, letting her head rest lightly against the front of his shoulder. She tries, desperately, not to read into it. It’s far from the first time that they’ve sat like this on the couch, but she can’t help herself when she hopes that Sylvain might be seeing her differently. 

In the end, she falls asleep against him far too early in the evening, buzzed off of wine and comfortable against his side. As she’s drifting off, the last thing she remembers is the lightest touch of his hand on her brow as he brushes aside her hair and a faint smile as he looks down at her. 


	9. track 9: and i'll be loving you for quite some time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain and Ingrid go to the fair for the day. It's _not_ a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i know it's been a while, but i'm within a month! better than when I disappeared for three months to post my big bang... anyway, i hope you're all ready for some "THIS IS NOT A DATE" energy in this chapter. because that's what i'm going for. ;) been juggling a lot of projects but i decided it was about time i pulled up my socks to give this fic an update again.
> 
> **Track 9: Stay Stay Stay**  
> 

_track 9: and i’ll be loving you for quite some time_

* * *

Ingrid is _exhausted_.

Every part of her body hurts and her feet are swollen and she just wants to curl up into a ball and do nothing. Today has been so emotionally exhausting that she just wants it to be over and for it to never come back. 

There is nothing more painful than having to inform families that their pets are ill. The connection between a person and an animal companion is so strong and their grief is so palpable. None of them want to see their friends and companions suffer but sometimes there is nothing that can be done but to offer a quiet way out.

Usually, Ingrid does not have to deal with this situation often. Today, she dealt with it in three separate appointments—two of which had children under ten years old present when she had to inform the family. 

It doesn’t help that the rent payment for the office was due today and due to a miscommunication, they had almost been late with it which had simply added to the stress of the day. Ingrid is close friends with both Marianne and Leonie, but after today, she really didn’t want to speak to anyone. 

Since arriving home, she has burrowed her way into the couch after eating the leftovers Sylvain had left her in the fridge from last night. She’s tucked under two separate blankets, staring blankly at the TV screen as a news reporter chatters on about some social reform bill that is entering parliament soon. 

She’s sitting there like an unmoving blob when Sylvain finds her. He’s dressed in his gym clothes, obviously having stopped by the gym on his way home from work, and he looks surprised to see her so dead-looking on the couch. 

“Ingrid?”

She turns her head towards him as much as she can, given her current blanket-cocoon situation. “Hi,” she mumbles. 

He frowns. “Long day?”

She nods. “Hard day.”

He jabs a thumb towards the bathroom. “I’m going to shower and then we can talk if you’d like.”

Ingrid shrugs. She’s not sure she wants to talk about it. Days like this aren’t easy, but they are unfortunately part of her job description. If anything, she almost just wants Sylvain to hug her and distract her with literally anything else.

He showers quickly, faster than he usually does, and returns to her wearing a white t-shirt and grey sweats. He sits next to her on the couch and leans into her, being both clingy, jokingly annoying, and comforting. The water that drips from his still-damp hair is cold though, and Ingrid grumbles pushing him away until they both chuckle. 

Sylvain sobers up, digging into her blanket pile to find her hand. “You okay?”

“Just a hard day,” she admits. “I’m glad I don’t have to work tomorrow. I really need a distraction.” 

Sylvain seems to perk up at the mention of distraction. “I’m very distracting,” he offers immediately. 

Ingrid looks away from him. He is very distracting. Him and his pretty face and playful laugh and gentle touches are all incredibly distracted but not for the reasons that he probably wants them to be distracting. _Sylvain is her best friend_ , she internally chants. _He is just her friend._

“Yeah, yeah,” she dismisses. 

“Hey, but actually, we could go to the fair tomorrow if you wanted? They’re opening up the boardwalk. We could relive an old experience.”

His suggestion piques her interest. They had used to go to the Fhirdiad Fair every summer as kids. She hasn’t been in a few years, but it does certainly sound like a distraction. She bites her lip. 

“Really?

Sylvain grins. “Sure, why not? I think it’d be fun.” He nudges her with his elbow. “But, tonight, we can watch whatever show you watch because I definitely do not want to do any more walking today and I’m in a chair all day.”

She scoffs. “I spend a lot of my day sitting too, Sylvain.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So, you’re telling me you want to walk a lot more today?”

She considers the lingering aches in her feet and frowns. “No,” she mutters. A needling guilt pricks at her stomach. “And you really didn’t have other plans tomorrow?”

“Nah,” he says immediately. “I think it would be fun. Besides, you know I’d drop everything to hang out with you, right?”

Warmth fills her cheeks and she smiles almost shyly. “I guess,” she admits. “But sometimes it’s nice to hear you say it out loud.”

Sylvain’s smile widens. “Alright, I’ll get in the habit of saying it more often.” He clears his throat dramatically. “Ingrid Brandl Galatea, my bestest friend, will you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Fhirdiad Fair tomorrow on our day off?”

 _My bestest friend_. The words ring in her head and she forces a laugh, hoping that it comes off casual and not disappointed. _They are friends. This is not a date._

_It’s not._

Tonight is also not a date night. Even when Sylvain wrestles a blanket free and lumps them in together under a twist of fabric. Even when he rests his arm along the top of her shoulder. Even when she can smell his aftershave as she tries and fails to pay attention to the TV show that Sylvain picks for them to watch together. 

_They are friends._ That’s all. _That’s all._

* * *

Between the two of them, Ingrid has always been the early riser. So, when she wakes up in the morning to the smell of frying eggs, she is surprised. She rubs her eyes and sits up in her bed, stifling a yawn. The smell tells her that either Sylvain has woken up before her or someone has broken into their apartment. Since the latter is much less likely to be true, apparently Sylvain has decided to emulate her this morning. 

She gets dressed into a pair of shorts and a loose blue t-shirt and wanders out of her room, starting to draw her hair back into its typical style with two front pieces braided back out of her face. She has one braid tucked in her mouth when she rounds the corner into the kitchen and can only wiggle her elbow in greeting at Sylvain as she fiddles with her hair.

He laughs at the sight of her but nods for her to take a seat at the bar where he has already set two plates of eggs and bacon. Ingrid bobs her head awkwardly, trying not to mess up her hair as she climbs into the seat. It only takes her another minute before she gets both of her braids done neatly enough that they stay pulled back out of her face. 

She drops her hands down and huffs heavily, her stomach rumbling. Sylvain chuckles and slips into the seat next to her. He slides a fork across the counter to her and Ingrid picks it up gratefully. 

“Thanks,” she says and immediately takes a bite of eggs. They’re hot, burning the top of her mouth and she coughs abruptly to compensate. 

Sylvain pats her arm placatingly. “Take it easy, Ing. The eggs aren’t going anywhere.”

Ingrid makes a face at him and manages to swallow her mouthful. “I’m starving,” she mumbles. 

He jokingly taps his fork against hers and takes a smaller bite of his own food. “And that’s why I got up to cook.”

Ingrid narrows her eyes. “I meant to ask, why are you awake? Usually, I’m the first one up.”

“I dunno, honestly,” he admits. “I woke up before my alarm. I think my body was just really excited. We’re going to the Fair today! It feels like forever since we’ve gone to the fair.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “You’re still just a big kid, aren’t you?”

He grins. “Absolutely. But, come on, are you going to tell me you’re not excited to get your ass kicked at carnival games?”

She raises her eyebrows at the challenge. “You’re talking smack to me? You couldn’t even keep up with Felix and me last time.”

Sylvain winks. He pantomimes throwing a dart at an imaginary target. “Okay, but, counterpoint: I’ve been practicing.”

Ingrid bursts out laughing. The concept of practicing carnival games is ridiculous and she knows Sylvain is joking. His jokes are, however, putting her in a good mood and making her excited about getting to go to the Fair as well. It will be nice to step outside the apartment and do something for fun.

But it’s not a date.

She has to keep reminding herself of that. She and Sylvain are just friends. It doesn’t matter that he cooks her breakfast in the morning and gives her that lopsided grin that makes her heart do flips. 

She focuses her attention back on the meal in front of her so that she doesn’t have to stare at Sylvain’s frustratingly pretty smile. Her stomach agrees with the shift in her attention.

* * *

“Sylvain, I can buy my own ticket,” Ingrid argues as they stand in line at the kiosk to enter the fair.

He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. As you once said, probably ten years ago, I’m the rich bitch so I’m going to pay.”

She gives him an exasperated glare. “Sylvain.”

He beams. “Ingrid.”

They hold the silent staring contest for another few seconds before she finally sighs, waving him forward to the till to let him pay for both of their entry fees. She’ll pay him back through park food and by buying tickets to play the games. Which she then plans on beating him at for all the glory and none of the prizes. 

Once their tickets are purchased and stamped, the attendant waves them through the turnstiles into the main part of the fair. Immediately, the smell of frying dough and buttered popcorn assaults her senses and Ingrid is hungry again. To Sylvain’s credit, he neither complains nor bats an eye when she drags him to the nearest food cart and buys a little bag of mini donuts. 

Ingrid bites into one and groans. They’re just as good as she remembered. Honestly, she’s never been able to find anywhere in all of Faerghus that makes better mini donuts than the Fhirdiad Fair. Felix used to say it was because of the nostalgia, but Sylvain had agreed that there was something about eating the donuts on the fairgrounds that made the experience on another level entirely. 

He dips into her bag to steal a donut and then nudges her towards the nearest row of booths with carnival games. Ingrid follows his lead, smiling to herself as she eats through a few of her donuts before folding down the top of the bag and stowing the extras in her purse. 

The first game that they come across is a classic: throw baseballs at a series of stacked blocks to try and knock them down and win prizes. Thanks to many years of practice at these games, Ingrid remembers that the blocks are always weighted to the bottom so that they’re harder to topple unless you hit the bottom half of the blocks. 

She forks over the five dollars to get both her and Sylvain a round and they grin at each other as the attendant passes their three balls over the counter. Ingrid lets Sylvain throw first. He does better than she thought he would, knocking over five of the ten available blocks. 

Sylvain gives a mocking bow once he’s done. “Thank you, thank you,” he says teasingly. “You may hold your applause.”

Ingrid scoffs and hands him her purse. “Watch and learn.” 

She lines up her first throw and manages to strike one of the blocks on the second level, knocking it and the top block off. Her second throw is a little better, striking the bottom row and sending two more blocks falling. Before she can throw the third ball, Sylvain leans in.

“Careful, Griddle! If you don’t get another with this shot that means I won the first game.”

Ingrid elbows him, forcing him to step back as he wheezes a laugh. She takes her time with the third toss, aiming for the centre of the bottom row. Thankfully, her aim is true and she knocks three more blocks down, giving her a total of seven out of ten which trumps Sylvain’s five. She spins to face him and grins victoriously. 

“Ha!”

He shrugs, looking completely nonplussed. “The Great Ingrid Galatea does it again,” he says teasingly. “I’ll get you next time.”

The attendant then informs them that because neither of them actually succeeded in knocking all of the blocks over that they don’t get a prize. Ingrid doesn’t worry about it. The whole point of coming to the fair isn’t to leave with the most prizes. They’re here to play the games, eat the food, and enjoy the atmosphere. 

“Where to next?” Ingrid asks Sylvain as they start to stroll away from the booth down the aisle of carnival games. 

“Let’s find one with those water guns,” he suggests. “Felix always wins those, so let’s see who’s better between us two.”

She takes her purse back. “Loser buys lunch?”

“I can get behind that,” he agrees. 

Ingrid smiles, the mid-morning warmth sending heat curling down her spine. 

* * *

Somehow, they manage to spend an entire day at the fair. Between the carnival games and the food and the shows put on in tents, the day seems to whip by until it's evening and the sun is dipping towards the horizon. 

Ingrid still has two of her donuts left from the morning and as they walk towards the exit, she offers one to Sylvain. He hesitates before taking it, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“Really?”

Ingrid huffs. “Come on, Sylvain. I bought them for us to share.”

He gives her a teasing look for that. “I’m sure.”

It doesn’t matter that she ate seven of the ten donuts and Sylvain ate three. If anything, it’s the fact that she shared three with him that matters at all.

He takes the second last donut and eats it in two quick bites. Ingrid eats the last one herself and turns to look for a garbage can to throw out the bag. As she’s turning, she catches the barest glimpse of Sylvain lifting his arm. Ingrid takes a step away but then pauses, looking over her shoulder at him. 

She catches him in a half-stretched position that looks awkward and unintentional as he stretches out his right arm. His ears turn red when they make eye contact and she raises an eyebrow. Sylvain commits to the weird stretch and then drops his arm so she lets it go, moving to throw away the paper bag. 

By the time she returns to his side, Sylvain seems to have tamed whatever weirdness had had him blushing. She doesn’t press the issue. She definitely doesn’t have room to call out Sylvain for being weird when she is constantly having to check herself to make sure that she’s not being super weird. Besides, Sylvain’s weirdness is a typical brand of Sylvain weird. He gets like this occasionally. 

It reminds her of the night in the park after they met Byleth or the way that they had laid together on their apartment floor after his birthday party. Or how they had curled up together after a few too many glasses of wine on the anniversary of Ingrid and Glenn’s breakup. 

“So,” she says, “what are we going to do now?” 

He hums. “I dunno. Do you want to get dinner out?”

Ingrid thinks of the apartment. She’s sure that they have food back there, but the idea of staying out and prolonging this day of lighthearted fun is undeniably attractive. Going home will mean that they have to consider the day over, but if they stay out later, then she can pretend that it’s not ending yet. 

“Yes,” Ingrid says. “I have no idea what I want to do but I don’t want to go home yet.”

Sylvain’s smile widens. “Glad you agree.” He nods towards the parking lot. “I have an idea that you might like.”

He walks away from her a few steps and Ingrid blinks at his back before her body catches up and she jogs after him.

“Sylvain! What does that mean?”

* * *

As it turns out, Sylvain’s grand idea is them getting burgers and milkshakes from the diner close to their old high school and then climbing the lowest part of the fence to get onto the soccer field. They’d hung out here enough when they’d been in high school that Ingrid actually remembers which side of the field has the closest benches that aren’t missing slats in the seats. 

They settle onto the bench together and unwrap their food, digging in while it’s still warm. Ingrid finishes her food first and takes a moment to steal a glance at Sylvain while he eats. Bathed in the light of the setting sun, he looks young. His hair is a dark copper colour and his eyes are glittering almost gold. 

He notices pretty quickly that she’s staring at him and he raises an eyebrow. “Everything good?”

Ingrid nods. “Yeah. I just wanted to say thank you,” she confesses. “I really needed this, Sylvain.”

He brushes his mouth off, smiling. “Yeah, I know. I did too.” He pauses as if he’s considering adding something else. “It’s nice to get out and do something together. As much as I love making fun of literally everything that comes across our TV in the evenings, we haven’t had a full day together in what feels like ages.”

Ingrid scoffs. “That’s not entirely my fault.”

He shrugs. “No, you’re right. I’m busy too. But, it’s nice to hang out with you.”

She presses her lips together to smother her smile. There’s a bubbling warmth in her chest that she has come to associate with Sylvain. Some days it is quieter and more reserved, but today it has been filling her from head to toe. It’s as if he pulled her out of whatever hole she had dug herself into yesterday and just showered her in sunshine until she felt like herself. 

Without thinking, Ingrid rests her head against his shoulder. “I had fun today, Sylvain,” she says. “Thank you.”


End file.
